AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


.  OP  CALIF.  LIBBARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


Works  of 

Annie  Fellows  Johnston 

THE  LITTLE  COLONEL  SERIES 

jH 

The  Little  Colonel  .        .        .        .  $  .50 

The  Giant  Scissors  .        ...  .50 

Two  Little  Knights  of  Kentucky  .  .50 

The  Little  Colonel  Stories      .         .  1.50 

(Containing  in  one  volume  the  three  stories,  "  The 
Little  Colonel,"  "The  Giant  Scissors,"  and  "Two 
Little  Knights  of  Kentucky.") 

The  Little  Coloners  House  Party  .  1.50 

The  Little  Colonel's  Holidays         .  1.50 

The  Little  Colonel's  Hero       .        .  1.50 

The  Little  Colonel  at  Boarding-School  1.50 

(In  Preparation) 

The  Little  Colonel  in  Arizona       .  1.50 
J* 

OTHER  BOOKS 
Joel :  A  Boy  of  Galilee  .  $1.50 


Big  Brother 

Ole  Mammy's  Torment. 

The  Story  of  Dago         . 

Cicely      .... 

Aunt  'Liza's  Hero  . 

The  Quilt  That  Jack  Built 


.50 
.50 
.50 
.50 
.50 
.50 


Asa  Holmes 1.00 

Flip's  "  Islands  of  Providence  "      .1.00 
Songs  Ysame  (Poems,  with  Albion 
Fellows  Bacon)    ...»      1.00 

„* 

L.  C  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
200  Summer  Street  Boston,  Mass. 


.   , 


"  AT  FIRST  HE   ALWAYS  BROUGHT  SOME  BOY   WITH  HIM 

(See  page  43} 


(SToso  Corner  Series 


By 

Annie  Fellows  Johnston 

Author  of 

"The  Little  Colonel    Series,"   "Big  Brother,"   "The 
Story    of    Dago,"    "  Ole    Mammy's    Torment,"    etc. 

Illustrated  by 
W.   L.   Taylor  and  others 


Boston  j*  J*  jt  &  jt 
L.  C.  Page  &  Company 
&  £,  £  ^t  ^t  1904. 


Copyright  1889,  1890,  1893,  1894,  1893,  1899, 
BY  PERRY  MASON  COMPANY 

Copyright,  1903 
By  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 

All  rights  reserved 

Published  August,  1903 


Colonml  Jkraa 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

These  stories  first  appeared  in  the  Youtlis 
Companion.  The  author  wishes  to  acknowledge 
the  courtesy  of  the  editors  in  permitting  her  to 
republish  them  in  the  present  volume. 

Messrs.  L.  C.  Page  and  Company  wish  also 
to  acknowledge  the  courtesy  of  the  editors  in 
granting  them  permission  to  use  the  original 
illustrations. 


213062ft 


AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO 

THE  CAPTAIN'S  CELEBRATION    . 

JODE'S  CIRCUS  MONEY        .... 

JIMMY'S  ERRAND 

WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  AT  HARDYVILLE 
AN  OLD  DAGUERREOTYPE  .... 


PAGE 
13 

35 


89 
"3 


"  AT     FIRST     HE     ALWAYS    BROUGHT    SOME    BOY 

WITH  HIM  "  (See  page  43)       .         .        Frontispiece 
"  SHE  LISTENED  INTENTLY,  EXPECTANTLY  "      .      28 

"  SHE    SAT   SMILING   HAPPILY   IN    THE   DEPTHS 

OF  THE  BLACK  SUNBONNET "       .        .        .31 

"  MR.  GATES  KICKED  HIS   FEET  AGAINST  THE 

ANDIRONS" •      93 


AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO 


AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO 


AUNT  'LIZA  BARNES  leaned  over  the  front 
gate  at  the  end  of  the  garden  path,  and  pulled 
her  black  sunbonnet  farther  over  her  wrinkled 
face  to  shade  her  dim  eyes  from  the  glare  of  the 
morning  sun.  Something  unusual  was  happen- 
ing down  the  street,  judging  from  the  rapidly 
approaching  noise  and  dust. 

Aunt  'Liza  had  been  weeding  her  little  vege- 
table garden  at  the  back  of  the  house  when  she 
first  heard  the  confused  shouting  of  many 
voices.  She  thought  it  was  a  runaway,  and 
hurried  to  the  gate  as  fast  as  her  rheumatic 
joints  would  allow. 

Runaway  teams  had  often  startled  the  sleepy 

streets  of  this  little  Indiana  village,  but  never 

before  had  such  a  wild  procession  raced  through 

its    thoroughfares.      Two    well-grown    calves 

'3 


14  AUNT     LIZA  S    HERO 

dashed  past,  dragging  behind  them  an  over- 
turned, home-made  cart,  to  which  they  were 
harnessed  by  pieces  of  clothes-lines  and  rusty 
trace-chains. 

Behind  them  came  a  breathless  crowd  of 
shouting  boys  and  barking  dogs.  They  were 
gasping  in  the  heat  and  the  clouds  of  yellow 
dust  their  feet  had  kicked  up.  Aunt  'Liza's 
black  sunbonnet  leaned  farther  over  the  gate 
as  she  called  shrilly  to  the  boy  who  brought 
up  the  rear,  "  What's  the  matter,  Ben?  " 

The  boy  dropped  out  of  the  race  and  came 
back  and  leaned  against  the  fence,  still  grin- 
ning. 

"  Running  isn't  much  in  my  line,"  he  panted, 
as  he  wiped  his  fat2  freckled  face  on  his  shirt- 
sleeve. "  But  it  was  too  funny  to  see  them 
calves  kick  up  their  heels  and  light  out.  One 
is  Joe  Meadows's  and  one  is  Jeff  Whitman's. 
They're  broke  in  to  work  single,  and  pull  all 
right  that  way.  But  the  boys  took  a  notion  to 
make  'em  work  double.  This  is  the  first  time 
they've  tried  it.  Put  bits  in  their  mouths,  too, 
and  drive  'em  with  reins  like  horses.  My! 
But  didn't  they  go  lickety-split !  " 

Aunt  'Liza  chuckled.    Seventy-five  years  had 


AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO  15 

made  her  bent  and  feeble,  but  her  sense  of  fun 
and  her  sympathies  were  still  fresh  and  quick. 
Every  boy  in  the  place  felt  that  she  was  his 
friend. 

In  her  tumble-down  cottage  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  town  she  lived  alone,  excepting  when 
her  drunken,  thriftless  son  Henry  came  back 
to  be  taken  care  of  awhile.  She  supported  her- 
self by  selling  vegetables,  chickens,  and  eggs. 

Most  people  had  forgotten  that  she  had  once 
lived  in  much  better  circumstances.  Whatever 
longings  she  may  have  had  for  the  prosperity 
of  her  early  days,  no  one  knew  about  them. 
Perhaps  it  was  because  she  never  talked  of 
herself,  and  was  so  ready  to  listen  to  the  com- 
plaints of  others,  that  everybody  went  to  her 
with  their  troubles. 

The  racing  calves  soon  came  to  a  halt.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  procession  came  back,  and 
halted  quietly  in  front  of  the  little  garden  gate. 
Jeff  was  leading  the  calves,  which  looked 
around  with  mild,  reproachful  eyes,  as  if  won- 
dering at  the  disturbance. 

"  Aunt  'Liza,"  said  Jeff,  "  can  you  lend  me 
a  strap  or  something?  The  reins  broke.  That's 
how  they  happened  to  get  away  from  me." 


16  AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO 

"  You  can  take  the  rope  hanging  up  in  the 
well-shed  if  you'll  bring  it  back  before  night." 

"  All  right,  Aunt  'Liza.  I'll  do  as  much  for 
you  some  day.  Just  look  at  Daisy  and  Bolivar ! 
We're  going  to  take  them  to  the  fair  next  fall, 
and  enter  them  as  the  fastest  trotting  calves  on 
record." 

"  Boys  are  such  harum-scarum  creatures," 
said  the  old  woman,  as  she  bent  painfully  over 
her  weeding  again.  "  Likely  enough  JefFll 
never  think  of  that  rope  another  time." 

But  after  dinner,  as  she  sat  out  on  a  bench  by 
the  back  door,  smoking  her  cob-pipe,  Jeff  came 
around  the  house  with  the  rope  on  his  arm. 

"  Sit  down  and  rest  a  spell/'  insisted  the  old 
woman.  "  I  get  powerful  lonesome  day  in  and 
day  out,  with  scarcely  anybody  to  pass  a  word 
with." 

"  Where's  Henry?  "  Jeff  asked. 

"  Off  on  another  spree,"  she  answered,  bit- 
terly. "  I  tell  you,  Jeff,  it's  a  hard  thing  for  a 
mother  to  have  to  say  about  a  son,  but  many 
and  many's  the  time  I've  wished  the  Lord  had 
a-taken  him  when  he  was  a  baby." 

"  Maybe  he'll  come  all  right  yet,  Aunt 
'Liza,"  said  Jeff. 


AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO  17 

"  Not  he.  Not  an  honest  day's  work  has  he 
done  since  he  left  the  army,"  she  went  on. 
"  He  was  steady  enough  before  the  war,  but 
camp  life  seemed  to  upset  him  like.  He  was 
just  a  boy,  you  see,  and  he  fell  in  with  a  rough 
lot  that  started  him  to  drinking  and  gambling. 
He's  never  been  the  same  since.  Pity  the  war 
took  my  poor  Mac  instead.  He  never  would 
'a'  left  his  old  mother  to  drudge  and  slave  to 
keep  soul  and  body  together." 

Jeff  listened  in  amazement  to  this  sudden 
burst  of  confidence.  He  had  never  heard  her 
complain  before,  and  scarcely  knew  how  to  an- 
swer her. 

"  Why,  Aunt  'Liza,  I  never  knew  before  that 
you  had  two  sons !  "  he  said. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  answered  the  old 
woman,  sadly.  "  I  suppose  everybody's  for- 
gotten him  but  me.  My  Mac  never  had  his 
dues.  He  never  had  justice  done  him.  No, 
he  never  had  justice  done  him."  She  kept  re- 
peating the  words. 

"  He  ought  to  have  come  home  a  captain, 
with  a  sword,  for  he  was  a  brave  boy,  my  Mac 
was.  His  picture  is  in  the  front  room,  if  you've 
a  mind  to  step  in  and  look  at  it,  and  his  cap 


1 8  AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO 

and  his  canteen  are  hanging  on  the  peg  where 
he  left  them.  Dear,  dear!  what  a  long  time 
that's  been ! " 

Jeff  had  all  a  boy's  admiration  for  a  hero. 
He  took  the  faded  cap  reverently  from  its  peg 
to  examine  the  bullet-hole  in  the  crown.  He 
turned  the  battered  canteen  over  and  over,  wish- 
ing he  knew  how  it  came  by  all  its  dents  and 
bruises.  The  face  that  looked  out  from  the 
old  ambrotype  with  such  steadfast  eyes  showed 
honesty  in  every  line. 

"  Doesn't  look  much  like  old  Henry," 
thought  Jeff. 

"  Won't  you  tell  me  about  him,  Aunt  'Liza  ?  " 
he  asked,  as  he  seated  himself  on  the  door-step 
again.  "  I  always  did  love  to  hear  about  the 
war." 

It  was  not  often  she  had  such  an  attentive 
listener.  He  questioned  her  eagerly,  and  she 
took  a  childish  delight  in  recalling  every  detail 
connected  with  her  "  soldier-boy."  It  had  been 
so  many,  many  years  since  she  had  spoken  of 
him  to  any  one. 

"  Yes,  he  was  wounded  twice,"  she  told  him, 
"  and  lay  for  weeks  in  a  hospital.  Then  he  was 
six  months  in  a  Southern  prison,  and  escaped 


AUNT     LIZAS    HERO  19 

and  joined  the  army  again.  He  had  risked  his 
own  life,  too,  to  save  his  colonel.  Nobody  had 
shown  more  courage  and  daring  than  he. 
Everybody  told  me  that,  but  other  men  were 
promoted  and  sent  home  with  titles.  My  boy 
came  home  to  die,  with  only  scars  and  a  wast- 
ing fever." 

Thrilled  by  her  story,  Jeff  entered  so  fully 
into  the  spirit  of  the  recital  that  he,  too,  forgot 
that  Mclntyre  Barnes  was  only  one  among 
many  thousands  of  heroes  who  were  never 
raised  above  the  rank  of  private.  Mother-love 
transfigured  simple  patriotism  into  more  than 
heroism. 

As  age  came  on  she  brooded  over  the  thought 
more  and  more.  Even  the  loss  of  one  son  and 
the  neglect  by  the  other  did  not  cause  her  now 
such  sorrow  as  that  her  country  failed  to  recog- 
nize in  her  Mac  the  hero  whom  she  all  but 
worshipped. 

Jeff  found  himself  repeating  the  old  woman's 
words  as  he  went  toward  home  late  in  the 
afternoon : 

"  No,  Mac  never  had  justice  done  him  —  he 
never  had  his  dues." 


2O  AUNT   'LIZA'S    HERO 

Several  days  after  that  Jeff  and  Joe  stopped 
at  the  house  again  to  borrow  a  pail. 

"  We  forgot  to  water  the  calves  this  morn- 
ing," Jeff  explained,  "  and  they've  had  a  pretty 
tough  time  hauling  brush.  They  pull  together 
splendidly  now.  We've  been  clearing  out  Mr. 
Spalding's  orchard." 

"  Look  around  and  help  yourselves,"  Aunt 
'Liza  answered,  briskly.  "  When  once  I  get 
down  on  my  knees  to  weed  I'm  too  stiff  to  get 
up  again  in  a  hurry.  You'll  find  how  it  is, 
maybe,  when  you  get  into  your  seventies." 

"  Have  you  heard  the  news  ?  "  asked  Joe,  as 
he  held  the  pail  for  Daisy  to  drink. 

"No.     What,  boys?" 

"  You  know  Decoration  Day  comes  next 
week,  and  for  once  Stone  Bluff  is  going  to 
celebrate.  A  brass  band  is  coming  over  from 
Riggsville,  and  they've  sent  to  Indianapolis  for 
some  big  speaker.  There's  going  to  be  a  pro- 
cession, and  a  lot  of  girls  will  march  around, 
all  dressed  in  white,  to  decorate  the  graves." 

Aunt  'Liza  raised  herself  up  painfully  from 
the  roll  of  carpet  on  which  she  had  been  kneel- 
ing. A  bunch  of  weeds  was  still  clasped  in  her 
stiff  old  fingers. 


AUNT     LIZAS    HERO  21 

"  Is  it  really  so,  Jeff  ?  "  she  asked,  tremu- 
lously, as  he  started  to  the  well  for  another 
pail  of  water.  "  Are  they  going  to  do  all 
that?" 

"  Yes,  Aunt  'Liza." 

"  If  I  cut  down  all  my  roses,  won't  you  boys 
take  'em  out  to  the  graveyard  for  me?  I'm 
afraid  nobody'll  remember  my  poor  Mac." 

"  Why,  of  course  we  will,"  they  answered, 
heartily.  "  But  why  can't  you  go  yourself, 
Aunt  'Liza?  Everybody's  going." 

Aunt  'Liza  pushed  back  the  big  sunbonnet, 
and  looked  wistfully  across  the  meadows  to 
a  distant  grove  of  cedar-trees  that  were  out- 
lined against  the  clear  May  sky. 

"  It's  been  six  years  since  I  was  out  there. 
I'm  too  old  and  stiff  ever  to  walk  that  far 
again,  but  nobody  knows  how  I  long  to  go 
sometimes.  I  s'pose  I  must  wait  now  until  I'm 
carried  there;  but  then  it'll  be  too  late  to  do 
anything  for  him." 

Jeff  looked  at  Joe,  then  at  the  hopeless  ex- 
pression of  the  wrinkled  face. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we  can  do,  Aunt  'Liza," 
he  said,  eagerly.  "  If  you  don't  mind  riding 
in  such  an  outlandish  rig,  the  cart  is  big  enough 


22  AUNT     LIZAS    HERO 

to  hold  you  comfortably,  and  we'll  make  the 
calves  pull  you  out  there.  Will  you  go  that 
way?" 

Two  tears  that  were  rolling  slowly  down  the 
furrows  of  her  cheek  dropped  off  suddenly  as 
she  laughed  aloud. 

"  Why,  bless  your  heart,  sonny,"  she  ex- 
claimed, pleased  as  a  child.  "  I'd  ride  behind 
a  sheep  to  get  there.  What  a  fine  picture  we'll 
make,  to  be  sure!  They'll  put  us  in  a  comic 
almanac." 

Then  she  added,  solemnly,  "  I'll  thank  you 
to  my  dying  day,  boys;  and  mark  my  words, 
the  Lord  will  surely  bless  you  for  your  kindness 
to  a  lonely  old  woman." 

When  they  were  out  of  sight  of  the  house  Joe 
lay  down  on  the  grass  and  rolled  over  and  over 
in  a  fit  of  laughter. 

"  My  eyes !  what  a  figure  we'll  cut !  "  he 
gasped.  "  We'll  have  to  go  early,  or  we'll 
have  a  crowd  at  our  heels." 

"  Don't  you  suppose,"  said  Jeff,  "  that  the 
grave  will  be  in  pretty  bad  shape,  if  she  hasn't 
been  out  there  for  six  years?  If  it  is,  she'll 
feel  worse  than  if  she  had  stayed  at  home." 

"  There's  a  lot  of  'em  all  grown  up  with 

- 


AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO  23 

weeds  and  briers,  with  nothing  but '  Unknown  ' 
marked  on  the  headboards,"  answered  Joe. 
"  Let's  get  a  cartload  of  sod,  and  fix  them  all 
up  this  afternoon." 

A  little  while  later  the  rickety  gate  of  the 
neglected  burying-ground  opened  to  admit  two 
boys  shouldering  spades  and  driving  a  team  of 
calves. 

"Get  up,  Bolivar!"  called  Jeff;  "you're 
working  for  your  country  now." 

That  Decoration  Day  was  a  memorable  one 
in  Stone  Bluff.  The  earliest  sunshine  that 
streaked  the  chimney-tops  and  gilded  the  broad 
Ohio,  flowing  past  the  little  town,  found  Aunt 
'Liza  Barnes  in  her  garden.  She  had  stripped 
her  bushes  of  early  roses,  and  her  borders  of  all 
their  gay  old-fashioned  flowers,  to  twist  into 
wreaths  to  carry  with  her. 

When  the  morning  train  came  puffing  in 
from  Indianapolis  a  large  crowd  had  assembled 
at  the  station  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Colonel 
Wake,  the  orator  of  the  day.  Jeff  Whitman 
was  there,  painfully  conscious  of  being  dressed 
in  his  best,  and  of  having  a  dreaded  duty  to 
perform. 

He   watched   the   colonel   step   into   Judge 

•• 


24  AUNT     LIZA  S    HERO 

Brown's  carriage,  and  as  it  disappeared  from 
view  he  walked  slowly  down  the  street  in  the 
direction  it  had  gone. 

All  the  morning  Jeff  hung  around  Judge 
Brown's  house,  trying  to  make  up  his  mind  to 
carry  out  his  plan.  At  last  he  set  his  teeth 
together,  and  resolutely  opened  the  gate.  He 
felt  ready  to  sink  into  the  ground  when  the 
judge  himself  opened  the  door.  Jeff's  voice 
sounded  far  away  and  unnatural  when  he  asked 
permission  to  speak  to  Colonel  Wake. 

In  another  moment  the  boy  was  in  the 
dreaded  presence,  nervously  fingering  his  hat, 
and  trying  to  recall  his  carefully  prepared 
speech.  Then  at  sight  of  the  colonel's  smiling 
face  his  embarrassment  vanished. 

Before  he  realized  it  he  had  poured  out  the 
whole  story  of  Aunt  'Liza's  hero. 

"  We  are  going  to  take  her  out  there  this 
afternoon,"  he  said,  in  conclusion.  "  She  hasn't 
been  for  six  years,  and  maybe  she  won't  live 
to  go  another  year.  She  says  people  always 
praise  Captain  Bowles,  who's  buried  there,  and 
Corporal  Reed,  and  even  the  little  drummer 
boy,  but  they  never  say  anything  about  her 
Mac.  And  —  and  —  well,  I  thought  if  you 


AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO  25 

knew  what  a  splendid  soldier  he  was,  and  the 
brave  things  he  did,  maybe  you'd  just  mention 
him,  too.  It  would  please  the  old  lady  so 
much." 

The  colonel  promised,  and  gave  Jeff  a  hearty 
handshake,  saying  he  wanted  to  be  introduced 
to  Mrs.  Barnes,  and  would  depend  on  Jeff  to 
point  her  out  to  him. 

Nearly  every  one  walked  out  to  Cedar  Ridge. 
The  way  was  not  long,  and  by-paths  led 
through  shady  lanes,  where  blackberry  vines 
and  wild  roses  trailed  over  the  fence-corners. 

Colonel  Wake  and  the  judge  drove  in  a  car- 
riage. The  flower  girls  were  drawn  in  a  gaily 
decorated  moving  car,  and  carried  flags  and 
flowers.  No  one  saw  Aunt  'Liza  in  her  strange 
conveyance,  for  she  had  gone  long  before  the 
procession  started. 

"  How  nice  and  green  it  is,"  she  said, 
fondly  stroking  the  smooth  sod.  "  I  needn't 
have  worried  all  this  time,  thinking  it  wasn't 
looked  after.  Somebody  has  been  kind  to  my 
Mac.  I  was  going  to  give  every  single  one  of 
these  flowers  to  him,  but  now  I  want  you  boys 
to  take  some  of  them  and  put  a  wreath  on  every 
one  of  those  six  graves  marked  '  Unknown/ ' 


26  AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO 

When  the  procession  came  up  she  was  sitting 
on  the  same  old  folded  quilt  that  had  done  duty 
in  the  cart  as  a  seat.  She  leaned  contentedly 
against  the  wooden  headboard,  marked  simply, 
"  Mclntyre  Barnes,"  with  the  number  of  his 
company  and  regiment.  People  looked  at  her 
in  surprise,  wondering  how  she  came  there. 

The  boys  had  hitched  the  calves  out  of  sight, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hill;  for  being  boys, 
they  could  not  bear  to  be  laughed  at. 

Overhead  the  spicy  cedar  boughs  waved 
softly  in  the  May  breeze.  Below  the  bluff  the 
waters  of  the  Ohio  sparkled  in  the  sun.  During 
all  the  ceremonies  that  preceded  Colonel  Wake's 
speech  Aunt  'Liza  sat  with  her  dim  eyes  fixed 
on  the  Kentucky  shore  across  the  shining  of 
the  river. 

While  the  band  played  and  the  choir  sang 
she  never  turned  her  gaze  from  it.  Then  the 
clapping  of  hands  that  announced  the  speaker 
seemed  to  arouse  her.  She  listened  intently, 
expectantly. 

Colonel  Wake  was  a  true  orator.  He 
swayed  the  listening  crowd  at  his  will,  first 
to  laughter  and  then  to  tears. 

The  boy's  story  that  morning  had  greatly 


AUNT     LIZA  S    HERO  2Q 

interested  him.  At  the  close,  after  referring 
tenderly  to  the  unknown  dead,  and  offering  his 
passing  tribute  to  the  others,  he  told  the  story 
of  Mclntyre  Barnes's  heroic  life. 

He  told  it  as  only  an  old  soldier  and  an 
eloquent  speaker  could  tell  it.  The  old  woman, 
sitting  on  her  folded  quilt  on  her  son's  grave, 
threw  off  the  black  bonnet  to  catch  every  tone, 
every  gesture,  and  smiled  up  into  his  face  with 
proud,  grateful  eyes. 

She  felt  like  a  queen  coming  into  a  long- 
deferred  kingdom.  That  was  her  Mac  he  was 
talking  about!  This  great  soldier  knew  him 
and  honoured  him. 

Somebody  called  for  three  cheers  for  Mcln- 
tyre Barnes.  As  the  lusty  voices  rang  up 
through  the  cedar  boughs  and  echoed  across  the 
water  she  bowed  her  head  on  the  sod,  and  her 
happy  tears  fell  like  rain.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
speech  that  moved  them.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
sight  of  that  wrinkled,  tear-wet  face;  for  when 
the  flower  girls  finished  strewing  their  gar- 
lands every  grave  had  been  decorated,  but 
Mclntyre  Barnes's  had  received  more  than  all. 
It  was  completely  covered  with  fragrant  bloom. 

The  people  who  stood  near  could  not  help 


30  AUNT  'LIZA'S  HERO 

smiling  when  the  boys  drove  up  with  the  little 
cart  to  which  the  frisky  calves  were  hitched. 
But  Aunt  'Liza  was  in  such  an  uplifted  frame 
of  mind  that  she  would  not  have  noticed  had 
they  laughed  aloud. 

The  colonel  came  and  shook  her  hands,  say- 
ing he  was  proud  to  know  the  mother  of  such 
a  son.  After  that  everybody  else  came  crowd- 
ing around  to  speak  to  her. 

The  band  started  back  toward  town,  playing 
a  lively  quickstep,  and  the  crowd  soon  dis- 
persed. The  boys  did  not  talk  much  as  they 
walked  homeward  in  the  sunset  beside  Bolivar 
and  Daisy. 

As  for  Aunt  'Liza,  she  sat  smiling  happily 
in  the  depths  of  the  black  sunbonnet,  and  say- 
ing over  and  over : 

"  My  Mac  has  had  his  dues  at  last.  It  was 
a  long  time,  but  he's  had  justice  done  him  at 
last!" 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  CELEBRATION 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  CELEBRA- 
TION 


"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  cap- 
tain ?  "  Doctor  Morris  had  made  the  rounds  of 
the  hospital  and  was  standing  beside  the  bed 
in  a  narrow  little  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall. 
He  took  the  old  man's  feeble  hand  in  one  of 
his  firm  ones,  and  with  the  other  gently  stroked 
the  white  hair  back  from  his  wrinkled  fore- 
head. This  seemed  to  smooth  away  some  pain, 
too,  for  the  faded  blue  eyes  looked  up  at  him 
with  a  grateful  smile. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  there  is.  I  don't  like 
to  trouble  you,  doctor,  but  I  do  want  a  piece 
of  an  old  broomstick,  and  if  I  could  have  it 
early  in  the  morning,  I'd  be  very  much  obliged 
to  you,  sir." 

35 


36  THE  CAPTAIN'S  CELEBRATION 

"  A  broomstick !  "  repeated  the  doctor,  in 
amazement,  wondering  if  the  old  man's  mind 
was  beginning  to  wander.  "  What  under  the 
sun  could  you  do  with  it  ?  " 

A  faint  smile  crossed  the  captain's  face. 
Then  a  spell  of  coughing  delayed  the  answer 
for  a  moment. 

"  I  want  to  carve  something,"  he  panted, 
"  and  broom-handle  wood  is  easy  to  cut.  The 
nurse  has  been  like  an  angel  to  me  all  these 
weeks  that  I  have  been  in  the  hospital.  Ever 
since  they  moved  me  into  this  room  by  myself, 
I've  known  that  I  haven't  much  longer  to  live, 
and  I  want  to  leave  her  something  to  show 
that  I  appreciate  her  kindness,  and  was  grate- 
ful for  it." 

The  doctor  pressed  the  old  man's  hand  as  he 
went  on :  "  I've  been  thinking  I  would  like 
to  make  her  a  little  chain.  My  grandfather 
taught  me  to  carve  such  things  when  I  was  a 
lad.  He  was  a  Swiss,  you  know,  and  followed 
my  mother  over  to  this  country  soon  after  I 
was  born.  He  was  so  old  that  all  he  could 
do  was  just  to  sit  under  the  trees  and  carve 
little  toys  to  amuse  the  children.  I  have  his 
pocket-knife  yet,"  he  added,  with  a  smile  of 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  CELEBRATION  37 

childish  satisfaction  that  made  the  old  face 
pathetic. 

He  looked  down  at  his  right  hand,  so  twisted 
out  of  shape  that  it  was  nearly  useless.  "  I 
can't  do  as  good  work  as  I  used  to  do  thirty 
years  ago,  before  that  Minie  ball  crippled  me," 
he  said.  "  But  Miss  Mary  will  make  allow- 
ances; she  will  know  that  I  remembered  and 
was  grateful,  don't  you  think?  "  he  asked,  anx- 
iously. 

"  Most  certainly,"  answered  the  doctor, 
stooping  to  arrange  the  patient's  pillows  more 
comfortably  about  him.  "  But,  captain,  I  am 
afraid  that  I  can't  allow  you  to  undertake  any- 
thing that  will  be  a  tax  on  your  strength.  You 
haven't  any  to  spare." 

So  deep  a  shade  of  disappointment  crept  into 
the  old  man's  wistful  eyes  that  the  doctor  felt 
an  ache  in  his  throat,  and  drove  it  away  with 
a  little  laugh.  "  Pshaw !  "  he  said,  hastily. 
"  You  shall  have  a  mile  of  broomsticks  if  you 
want  them.  I'll  send  my  son  Max  up  with  one 
inside  the  next  hour." 

The  gong  had  just  struck  the  signal  for  dis- 
missal in  the  third-ward  school  building, 
when  the  busy  physician  drove  up  to  the  curb- 


38  THE  CAPTAIN'S  CELEBRATION 

stone  in  his  sleigh  to  get  his  boy.  "  Max  will 
be  down  in  a  minute,  Doctor  Morris !  "  called  a 
boy,  as  he  ran  past  the  sleigh  with  his  skates 
slung  over  his  shoulder.  "  Miss  Clay  kept  some 
of  'em  to  see  about  celebrating  Washington's 
Birthday." 

"  Thank  you,  Ned,"  answered  the  doctor. 
He  drew  the  robes  closer  about  him  as  he 
walked  the  horse  up  and  down,  for  there  was 
a  keen  wind  blowing  this  cold  February  after- 
noon. Presently  a  group  of  boys  loitered  by 
and  stood  on  the  corner,  waiting  for  the  rest 
of  Miss  Clay's  pupils  to  join  them. 

"  I'm  glad  Miss  Clay  isn't  my  teacher !  "  one 
of  them  exclaimed,  in  a  loud  voice.  "  Skat- 
ing's  too  good  now  to  waste  time  learning 
to  spout  pieces." 

"  Well,  I  think  it's  about  time  to  give  George 
Washington  a  rest,"  said  the  largest  boy  in  the 
group.  "  He's  a  back  number,  and  I'll  tell  her 
so,  too,  if  she  asks  me  to  say  any  of  her  old 
pieces." 

"  That's  a  pretty  way  to  talk  about  the  Father 
of  your  Country !  "  piped  up  a  little  fellow  in 
spectacles,  who  was  sliding  on  the  ice  in  the 


THE    CAPTAIN  S    CELEBRATION  39 

gutter.  "Back  number!  I  just  dare  you  to 
say  that  to  Miss  Clay !  " 

The  doctor  overheard  this,  but  he  did  not 
hear  the  quarrel  that  followed,  for  Max  came 
running  down  just  then,  and  climbed  into  the 
sleigh. 

"  You're  late  to-day,  my  boy.  What's  the 
trouble?" 

"  Oh,  Miss  Clay  kept  us  to  arrange  a  pro- 
gramme for  Washington's  Birthday,  and  no- 
body wanted  to  take  part.  We're  all  tired  of 
the  same  old  thing  year  after  year  —  just  songs 
and  recitations  and  dialogues  about  the  same 
old  fellow!" 

"  A  fine  lot  of  patriots  this  next  generation  is 
going  to  turn  out!  "  said  the  doctor,  so  sternly 
that  Max  gave  him  a  quick  glance  of  surprise, 
and  then  flushed  at  his  evident  disapproval. 
The  grim  look  crept  into  the  man's  eyes  that 
was  always  there  when  he  was  absorbed  in  a 
critical  case. 

"  O  papa,  are  we  going  home?  "  cried  Max, 
in  a  disappointed  tone,  as  the  horse  turned  in 
that  direction. 

"  For  a  few  minutes,"  answered  Doctor  Mor- 
ris. "I  want  you  to  take  something  to  one 


4O  THE  CAPTAIN'S  CELEBRATION 

of  my  patients  at  the  hospital.  I'll  leave  you 
with  him  while  I  go  on  to  the  Berridge  place." 

Max,  who  had  expected  a  long  sleigh-ride, 
forgot  his  disappointment  when  he  found  that 
Captain  Wilshire  was  an  old  soldier,  who  bore 
the  scars  of  more  than  one  battle.  An  internal 
wound,  received  at  Shiloh,  still  troubled  him  at 
times,  and  exposure  during  the  last  year  of  the 
war  had  brought  on  the  consumption  that  was 
now  slowly  taking  his  life  away. 

"  He  is  one  of  the  truest  patriots  it  has  ever 
been  my  honour  to  meet,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I 
have  known  many  statesmen  in  my  time,  sev- 
eral generals  and  two  Presidents.  Any  one 
of  them  might  well  be  proud  to  take  off  his 
hat  to  Joe  Wilshire.  When  you  see  the  old 
hero  lying  alone,  Max,  in  that  cheerless  little 
room  in  the  hospital,  I  want  you  to  think  of 
the  reason  why  I  so  greatly  respect  him.  It  is 
not  simply  because  he  was  brave  in  battle,  or 
because  his  heroic  cheerfulness  kept  him  alive 
through  half  a  year  in  Libby  Prison,  or  because 
he  came  home  with  the  seeds  of  disease  planted 
in  his  system  and  his  good  right  hand  crippled 
and  useless.  Many  a  man  has  encountered  these 
tests,  and  yet  has  lost  his  zeal  for  his  country 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  CELEBRATION  41 

as  soon  as  the  cannon  smoke  cleared  away  and 
the  martial  music  was  done." 

"Then  why  is  it2  papa?"  asked  Max,  for 
they  had  reached  the  house,  and  the  doctor  was 
looking  in  the  bottom  of  the  sleigh  for  the 
hitching-strap. 

"  Well,  when  he  came  home,  he  was  of  course 
poor.  He  made  a  meagre  living  for  his  wife 
and  baby  with  only  a  few  acres  of  land  and  of 
fruit-trees  with  which  to  do  it.  Several  times 
his  old  comrades  suggested  to  him  that  he 
ought  to  apply  for  some  fat  government  office, 
but  he  always  said,  '  Boys,  I  know  that  you 
mean  well,  and  that  you  and  my  friends  could 
probably  get  me  in  on  the  score  of  my  being 
a  disabled  soldier;  but  I  know  and  you  know 
that  I  am  not  competent  to  fill  such  an  office. 
If  I  could  fill  an  office,  and  at  the  same  time 
serve  my  country  by  doing  so,  I'd  unhesitat- 
ingly take  one.  But  I'd  only  be  serving  myself 
by  filling  my  pockets  at  the  government's  ex- 
pense. No,  I'm  obliged  to  you,  boys,  but  I 
can't  feel  that  it  would  be  exactly  honourable.' 

"  Now  that's  patriotism,  Max,  of  the  highest 
type,  showing  unselfish  loyalty  and  love  of 
country !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor,  as  he  sprang 


42  THE    CAPTAIN  S    CELEBRATION 

out  of  the  sleigh.  "  I  was  disturbed  and  hurt 
just  now,  when  I  heard  the  boys  talking  about 
Washington  being  a  '  back  number.'  It  hurt 
because  there  is  some  truth  in  it.  Wars  call 
out  such  generals,  but  there  are  too  few  men  in 
these  times  of  peace  who  step  into  office  with 
Washington's  high,  unselfish  motives.  And  I 
fear  the  number  is  few  of  men  who  will  delib- 
erately give  up  the  honour  and  emolument  of 
office  because  they  believe  some  one  else  can 
render  better  service,  or  because  principle  pulls 
harder  than  public  purse-strings.  Yes,  such  pa- 
triotism is  getting  to  be  a  '  back  number ' 
so  far  back  that  it  has  grown  burdensome  for 
some  people  to  honour  it,  even  once  a  year." 

Max  had  seldom  heard  his  father  speak  so 
indignantly  before,  and  looked  at  him  in  sur- 
prise as  he  gave  a  final  fierce  tug  at  the  knot  he 
had  tied  in  the  halter. 

An  hour  later,  when  Doctor  Morris  called  at 
the  hospital,  Max  came  running  down-stairs 
with  his  eyes  shining  and  an  old  battered  can- 
teen under  his  arm.  "  The  captain  gave  it  to 
me !  "  he  said.  "  He  has  ever  so  many  old 
relics  in  his  chest,  and  there  is  a  splendid  story 
about  each  one.  O  papa,  isn't  he  just  the  lov- 


THE    CAPTAIN  S    CELEBRATION  43 

ablest  old  man?  He  asked  me  to  come  often 
and  bring  some  of  the  boys.  He  says  he  gets 
so  lonesome! " 

Nobody  but  the  nurse  knew  how  many 
times  Max  climbed  the  hospital  stairs  during 
the  next  two  weeks.  At  first  he  always  brought 
some  boy  with  him  to  listen  to  the  captain's 
stories,  and  carry  away  some  relic  as  a  treas- 
ured keepsake  from  the  chest  beside  his  bed; 
but  later,  the  captain  coughed  too  frequently  to 
talk  much.  Then  Max  came  alone,  with  bunches 
of  hothouse  flowers  and  little  paper  bags  full 
of  tempting  fruit. 

No  matter  when  the  boy  came,  he  always 
found  the  captain  busy  with  his  carving.  Day 
by  day  the  old  broomstick  was  slowly  approach- 
ing a  wonderful  transformation.  It  would  soon 
be  turned  into  a  long,  slender  chain,  with  each 
tiny,  separate  link  perfectly  fashioned.  Some- 
times, the  nurse,  not  knowing  that  it  was  in- 
tended for  her,  and  wondering  at  the  old  man's 
childish  impatience  to  finish  it,  would  gently 
insist  on  taking  it  out  of  his  feverish  fingers. 

"  Wait  till  to-morrow,  when  you  are 
stronger,"  she  would  urge.  He  would  then  re- 
luctantly give  it  up,  but  the  thought  of  his 


44  THE  CAPTAIN'S  CELEBRATION 

work  stayed  with  him.  Even  in  his  sleep  his 
poor  crippled  hand  bent  as  if  to  grasp  it,  and  the 
left  one  feebly  repeated  the  motions  of  wielding 
a  knife. 

"  I  have  set  my  heart  on  having  it  done  by 
Washington's  Birthday,"  he  whispered  one  day 
to  Max.  "  Oh,  if  I  can  only  hold  out  to  finish 
it !  "  he  added,  as  he  sank  back  wearily.  The 
nurse  put  the  unfinished  work  aside,  but  the 
next  morning  he  begged  so  imploringly  for  it 
that  she  had  not  the  heart  to  refuse. 

When  the  twenty-second  of  February  came, 
Miss  Clay's  schoolroom  was  in  gala  dress  for 
the  occasion.  She  had  been  untiring  in  her 
efforts  to  make  the  ceremonies  a  success,  but 
unconsciously  to  himself  the  old  captain  had 
done  far  more  than  she  to  arouse  an  interest 
in  the  programme. 

Max  came  first  with  his  old  canteen,  and 
repeated  the  story  that  the  captain  had  told 
him,  of  the  brave  comrade  who  had  carried  it. 
Then  one  of  the  boys  brought  an  old  army 
cape  of  faded  blue,  and  another  a  broken  spur. 
Simple  tales  were  told  of  love  and  loyalty  that 
had  never  found  their  way  into  print,  but  they 
stirred  the  hearts  of  the  hearers  in  the  school- 


THE    CAPTAIN  S    CELEBRATION  45 

room  with  a  pathetic  tenderness  for  these  un- 
known men  who  had  been  so  bravely  true. 

Doctor  Morris  came  into  the  room  just  in 
time  to  see  the  big  fellow  stand  up  who  had 
declared  the  Father  of  his  Country  a  "  back 
number."  He,  too,  had  been  with  the  captain, 
for  he  carried  an  old  blood-stained,  bullet-torn 
flag.  He  told  its  history  so  well  that  the  tears 
came  to  his  eyes  in  his  earnestness,  and  the 
audience  sympathized  with  the  feeling  and  ap- 
plauded him  when  he  had  finished. 

"I  see  that  we  have  a  member  of  the  school 
board  with  us,"  said  Miss  Clay,  bowing  to 
Doctor  Morris.  "  We  want  to  hear  from  him 
before  we  have  our  last  song." 

This  was  the  opportunity  the  doctor  was 
waiting  for.  He  took  a  little  package  from  his 
pocket.  It  was  the  captain's  finished  chain, 
from  which  hung  a  tiny  anchor,  beautifully 
carved  and  polished.  "  The  nurse  showed  this 
to  me  a  little  while  ago/'  he  said,  "  and  I 
asked  her  to  let  me  bring  it  here  for  you  to  see." 

The  speech  that  followed  was  very  much  like 
the  one  he  had  made  to  Max  in  the  sleigh  —  all 
afire  with  admiration  for  the  man  who,  with 
crippled  hand  and  with  empty  pockets,  had 


46  THE  CAPTAIN'S  CELEBRATION 

turned  his  back  on  office,  for  love  of  country, 
for  conscience'  sake. 

"  But  of  all  the  noble  lessons  of  this  old 
man's  life,"  he  said,  in  conclusion,  "  none  is 
more  beautiful  in  spirit  than  this  last  act;  this 
expression  of  gratitude  to  his  faithful  nurse. 
What  is  so  commonplace,  so  soon  forgotten  as 
a  bit  of  old  broom-handle?  But  look  at  this." 
Again  he  held  up  the  chain.  "  See  the  trans- 
forming power  of  a  noble  purpose!  He  has 
made  of  it  an  anchor,  and  fastened  to  her  heart, 
with  every  link,  the  memory  of  his  great  grati- 
tude. 

"  I  don't  want  to  preach,"  he  went  on,  "  but 
I  must  say  that  you  young  people,  I  fear,  miss 
the  spirit  with  which  the  nation  should  honour 
this  day,  if  you  do  not  see  that  the  success  of 
its  celebration  depends  entirely  on  this  same 
transforming  power.  A  heartfelt  gratitude  to 
the  heroes  who  won  and  kept  our  liberty  can 
make  beautiful  the  most  commonplace  act  of 
commemoration." 

Later,  when  the  February  afternoon  was 
nearing  twilight,  there  was  a  muffled  sound  of 
fife  and  drum  on  the  hospital  stairs.  The  many 
feet  stepped  lightly,  but  with  a  measured 


THE    CAPTAIN  S    CELEBRATION  4? 

tramp,  tramp  as  Miss  Clay's  school  marched 
down  the  long  corridor,  four  abreast. 

The  captain  had  been  delirious  at  intervals 
all  the  afternoon.  Now  he  opened  his  eyes 
with  a  puzzled  expression,  for  the  martial  music 
made  him  forget  his  surroundings. 

"  It's  just  the  young  people  from  the 
school,"  explained  the  nurse,  opening  the  door 
wider,  that  he  might  see  the  long  rows  of 
bright-faced  boys  and  girls  in  the  hall. 

Max  came  in  and  took  the  old  soldier's 
hand,  stroking  it  affectionately  while  he 
talked.  "  They're  going  to  sing  '  Hail  Colum- 
bia,' captain.  You  know  how  it  goes : 

"  Let  independence  be  our  boast, 
Ever  mindful  what  it  cost, 
Ever  grateful  for  the  prize  !  " 

"  You  see  we  never  were  really  '  mindful 
what  it  cost '  until  we  knew  you,  captain,"  Max 
went  on,  "  so  we  never  thought  about  being 
especially  grateful  to  anybody  before.  This  is 
a  sort  of  thank-offering  to  such  men  as  Wash- 
ington —  and  you." 

The  captain  tried  to  raise  himself  from  the 
pillows  —  tried  to  speak  some  word  of  greeting 


48  THE  CAPTAIN'S  CELEBRATION 

to  the  young  people  who  were  watching  him, 
but  sank  back  exhausted. 

"  I  can't !  "  he  said  to  the  nurse  in  a  voice 
that  trembled  pitifully.  "  You  tell  them  how 
glad  —  how  proud  —  Then  speech  failed 
him.  The  next  moment  the  boys  and  girls 
began  to  sing. 

A  happy  light  came  into  the  dim  old  eyes,  as 
the  sweet  voices  were  lifted  up  in  the  inspiring 
airs  that  he  loved  so  well. 

They  marched  out  softly  when  the  songs 
were  done,  waving  good-bye  to  him  with  their 
handkerchiefs.  Down  the  street  the  music  of 
fife  and  drum  sounded  fainter  and  fainter.  The 
room  was  growing  dark. 

Max,  who  lingered  behind,  saw  the  white 
head  turn  on  the  pillow  and  heard  a  long- 
drawn  sigh  of  satisfaction :  "  The  dear  chil- 
dren! God  help  'em  to  keep  the  old  flag  fly- 
ing! "  And  that  was  the  captain's  last  audible 
prayer. 


JODE'S  CIRCUS  MONEY 


JODE'S  CIRCUS  MONEY 


IT  was  nearly  school-time,  but  Jode  didn't 
seem  to  be  at  all  in  a  hurry.  He  sat  on  the 
wood-pile  with  the  empty  chip-basket  beside 
him,  slowly  untying  his  shoes.  The  old  gob- 
bler strutted  around  the  corner  of  the  kitchen, 
and  halted  suddenly  with  one  foot  drawn  up, 
as  he  caught  sight  of  the  red  stockings. 

"  Quit!  quit!  "  he  cried,  stretching  his  neck 
with  an  angry  gobble. 

Aunt  Jane  had  come  to  the  door  to  shake  the 
table-cloth.  She  stood  a  moment,  sniffing  the 
warm  spring  air£  and  peering  up  at  the  pink 
peach-tree  buds  through  her  spectacles. 

"  Quit !  quit !  "  cried  the  turkey  again,  and 
his  angry  voice  attracted  her  attention. 

"  Well,  Mary  Ann,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  just 
wish  you'd  see  what  that  boy's  a-doin' !  It  isn't 
5* 


52  JODES    CIRCUS    MONEY 

for  me  to  say,  but  if  he  was  mine,  he'd  not  go 
around  barefoot  this  kind  of  weather.  Next 
thing  will  be  croup.  You'd  better  'tend  to 
him." 

"  Meddlesome  old  thing ! "  muttered  Jode, 
disrespectfully,  throwing  a  chip  at  the  gobbler. 
"  Both  of  you  had  to  go  and  tell." 

The  table-cloth  whisked  into  the  kitchen,  fol- 
lowed by  the  complaining  voice,  and  soon  after 
his  mother  came  to  the  door  and  called  him. 

"  Have  you  fed  the  calves,  Joseph  ?  " 

"  Yes'm." 

"  And  filled  the  chip-basket?  " 

"  Almost." 

"  Then  hurry,  my  son ;  it  is  nearly  school- 
time." 

"  I  say,  ma,"  he  began,  "  can't  I  go  bare- 
footed ?  It's  plenty  warm,  and  lots  of  the  boys 
do." 

"  Why,  no,  child,"  she  answered.  "  I  told 
you  the  other  day  not  to  think  of  such  a  thing 
for  another  month  at  least.  Put  on  your  shoes 
immediately,  and  don't  let  me  hear  another 
word  about  it.  It's  of  no  use  to  tease." 

Jode  knew  that,  perfectly.  In  all  the  ten 
years  of  his  varied  experiences,  it  never  had 


JODE  S    CIRCUS    MONEY  53 

been  of  any  use.  Now^  although  the  feet  that 
slipped  back  into  the  red  stockings  and  stout 
shoes  were  very  loath  to  go,  they  went  slowly 
but  surely  in. 

"  Wish't  I  was  an  Indian,"  he  said,  as  he 
went  through  the  orchard,  balancing  his  geog- 
raphy on  his  head  and  swinging  his  lunch- 
basket,  while  the  dog  frisked  around  him.  He 
had  a  queer  way  of  talking  to  himself.  "  I 
could  stay  out-doors  all  the  time  then,  and  never 
have  to  go  to  school.  Indians  have  a  better 
time  than  anybody,  'thout  it's  dogs.  O  Penny, 
ain't  you  glad  you're  a  dog?  " 

The  first  bell  was  just  beginning  to  ring 
when  he  went  through  the  gate  at  the  end  of 
the  lane,  so  he  had  plenty  of  time  to  stop  when 
he  reached  Squire  Hooper's  barn,  and  look  at 
the  flaming  show-bills  with  which  it  was  cov- 
ered. 

Johnny  Harris  was  there  ahead  of  him,  and 
he  noticed,  with  a  pang  of  envy,  that  his  feet 
were  bare,  and  that  his  stubby  toes  wrere  dig- 
ging up  the  soft  earth,  as  he  stood  looking  at 
the  pictures. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  the  show,"  announced  Jode, 
proudly.  "  Our  hired  man  said  he'd  take  me 


54  JODE'S  CIRCUS  MONEY 

if  I'd  pay.  Pa  always  pays  me  every  spring 
for  dropping  corn,  so  I'll  have  more  than 
enough." 

Johnny  did  not  say  anything,  for  his  father 
was  the  drunken  shoemaker  of  the  little  settle- 
ment, and  the  cross-road  tavern  took  all  their 
spare  pennies.  He  stood  and  looked  with  long- 
ing eyes  at  the  pictures  of  the  animals.  He 
knew  what  a  stir  there  would  be  circus-day. 
How  the  wagons  would  begin  to  rattle  along 
the  roads  at  daylight  from  all  directions;  and 
how  the  band  would  play  in  town;  and  the 
frightened  country  horses  would  prance,  and 
the  crowds  of  people  would  block  the  streets 
to  see  the  long,  gay  procession.  But  it  would 
be  six  miles  away,  and  he  would  miss  it  all. 

While  they  looked  at  the  side-show  pic- 
tures, —  the  fat  woman  and  the  two-headed 
man  and  the  African  giant,  —  the  second  bell 
began  to  ring  and  away  they  raced  to  the 
schoolhouse.  In  his  haste  Jode  left  his  geog- 
raphy on  the  gate-post  by  Squire  Hooper's 
barn,  and  never  thought  of  it  again  until  after 
the  noon-hour,  when  they  came  tramping  in 
from  the  playground. 

"  You  are  very  careless,  Joseph,"  said  the 


JODE  S    CIRCUS    MONEY  55 

teacher.  "  Sit  with  Harris  to  study,  and  don't 
let  it  happen  again,  sir." 

The  boys  put  their  heads  together  behind  the 
map  of  the  New  England  States,  and  began 
studying  their  boundaries. 

"  Let's  begin  with  the  littlest,"  whispered 
Jode.  "  And  don't  you  talk  to  me,  old  fellow ; 
I  don't  want  to  be  kept  in  again  after  school. 
Rhode  Island  is  bounded  on  the  north  by  Mas- 
sachusetts, on  the  east  by  —  " 

"  Oh,  say,"  interrupted  Johnny,  "  I've  got 
some  field-mice  in  a  box  at  home.  I  was  going 
to  bring  them  to-day,  but  was  afraid  the 
teacher  would  take  'em  away.  They're  the 
cunningest  little  things!  Come  over  after 
school  and  I'll  show  'em  to  you." 

"  All  right,"  whispered  Jode,  with  one  eye 
on  the  teacher.  "  On  the  north  by  Massachu- 
setts, on  the  east  by  Massachusetts  and  Atlan- 
tic Ocean,  on  the  south  by  —  " 

"  Oh  gracious !  look  there !  "  interrupted 
Johnny  again.  "  Look  at  Boney  Woods ! 
What's  he  a-doin'?" 

Boney  had  his  book  propped  up  in  front  of 
him.  His  head  was  bowed  studiously  over 
his  lesson,  but  his  lesson  was  farthest  from 


56  JODE'S   CIRCUS  MONEY 

his  thoughts.  He  had  cut  a  piece  of  leather 
from  the  top  of  his  boot-leg,  and  was  making 
a  pair  of  spectacles. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  him.  Come  on,  and  let's 
learn  this.  I've  got  through  half  the  day  all 
right,  and  don't  want  to  spoil  it  all  now. 
Rhode  Island  is  bounded  on  the.  north  by 
Massachusetts,  on  the  east  by  Massachusetts 
and  Atlantic  Ocean,  on  the  south  by  Atlan- 
tic—" 

"  I  say,  Jode,"  interrupted  his  seat-mate,  "  I 
can  pick  up  three  marbles  at  a  time  with  my 
toes." 

"  So  could  I,"  answered  Jode,  "  if  I  didn't 
have  my  shoes  on." 

"  Bet  you  couldn't !  " 

"Bet  I  could!" 

"  Take  'em  off  and  try,"  coaxed  Johnny. 

"  Well,  I'll  just  show  you,"  retorted  Jode. 

There  was  a  class  in  algebra  at  the  board, 
and  the  teacher  was  very  busy  explaining  some 
problem.  "  Let  x  equal  the  length  of  the  fish," 
he  was  saying.  Jode  raised  his  foot  carefully 
and  began  to  untie  his  shoe. 

"And  let  y  equal  the  length  of  its  tail," 


JODE  S    CIRCUS    MONEY  57 

continued  the  teacher,  completely  absorbed  in 
the  problem. 

In  a  moment  the  shoe  slipped  off  noiselessly, 
and  Johnny  put  three  of  his  largest  marbles  in 
a  row  on  a  crack  in  the  floor. 

"  Aw,  that  ain't  fair,"  said  Jode.  "  You 
can't  pick  up  that  big  Pompey  yourself.  Put 
.down  three  little  grays." 

Johnny  grumbled,  but  made  the  change,  and 
Jode  triumphantly  picked  them  up  with  his 
toes. 

"  There,"  said  he.  "  What  did  I  tell  you?  " 
Just  then  one  of  the  marbles  began  to  slip.  He 
tried  to  regain  his  hold,  and  all  three  of  them 
dropped  noisily,  and  went  rolling  across  the 
floor. 

The  teacher  turned  quickly,  and  his  eyes 
fell,  not  on  Johnny  and  Jode,  but  on  Boney 
Woods,  who  had  finished  the  spectacles  and 
put  them  on,  and  was  now  lolling  out  his 
tongue,  and  making  hideous  faces  at  the 
smaller  children. 

So  intent  was  he  on  this,  that  he  did  not 
know  he  was  being  watched,  until  the  awful 
stillness  that  had  settled  over  the  noisy  room 
warned  him  that  something  was  the  matter. 


58  JODE'S  CIRCUS  MONEY 

Then  he  faced  around  in  his  seat  in  great  haste, 
to  make  the  discovery  that  he  was  the  centre 
of  attraction. 

"  Are  you  quite  through  with  your  little 
exhibition,  Bonaparte?"  asked  the  teacher. 
"  Come  here !  Just  as  you  are  —  don't  take 
them  off." 

Poor  Boney  went  up  with  fear  and  trem- 
bling. 

"  I'll  settle  with  you  after  school,  sir.  Take 
a  seat  on  the  platform  and  study  your  lesson." 

Boney  stumbled  to  his  place,  and  sat  looking 
at  his  book,  with  hot,  briny  tears  stealing  down 
under  the  huge  spectacles.  From  past  expe- 
riences he  had  learned  too  well  what  that  meant. 
The  school  settled  down  into  almost  breathless 
silence,  and  the  guilty  couple  began  to  study 
violently. 

"  I  can't  get  my  shoe  laced  up  without  his 
seeing  me,"  whispered  Jode,  presently. 

"  Oh,  leave  it  off,"  begged  Johnny,  "  and 
slip  the  other  one  off,  too.  It  feels  awful  good 
to  get  rid  of  shoes."  He  stretched  out  his  ten 
little  brown  toes,  and  surveyed  them  with  a 
satisfied  air.  "See  them  feet?'1  he  asked. 
"  Them  old  feet  don't  care  for  nothing  but 


JODE  S    CIRCUS    MONEY  59 

glass.  They  can  stand  rocks  or  anything. 
Why,  in  summer,  I  can  tramp  down  the  thorn- 
iest kind  of  bushes,  blackberryin',  and  never 
mind  the  briars  a  bit." 

"  Aw,  I  wouldn't  be  such  a  brag,"  responded 
Jode.  Nevertheless,  he  silenced  the  inward 
voice  that  reminded  him  of  his  mother's  com- 
mand, and  followed  his  little  friend's  example. 

It  was  soon  time  for  the  afternoon  recess, 
and  they  all  went  trooping  out  into  the  warm 
sunshine,  all  but  Boney,  doomed  to  solitude 
and  the  leather  spectacles. 

Half  a  dozen  boys  crossed  the  playground, 
and  went  to  the  blacksmith  shop  on  the  other 
side  of  the  road.  Jode  followed  slowly,  for  the 
sticks  and  stones  hurt  his  bare  feet,  and  his 
conscience  hurt  him  more,  as  he  remembered 
his  mother's  parting  instructions. 

As  usual  the  good-natured  blacksmith  was 
busy  at  his  anvil,  and  paid  no  attention  to  the 
crowd  of  boys  making  themselves  at  home  in 
his  smithy.  A  seedy-looking  stranger  on  a 
mule  rode  up  to  the  door  to  have  a  loose  shoe 
fastened  in  place. 

"  Be  keerful,  young  'uns,"  he  drawled,  "  this 
'ere  mewel's  heels  is  loaded." 


60  JODE'S  CIRCUS  MONEY 

The  boys  shoved  back  a  little  to  give  the  new- 
comer more  room,  and  then  kept  on  shoving 
each  other  in  play.  The  end  boy  fell  against 
Johnny,  and  Johnny  fell  against  Jode,  and 
Jode  took  another  step  backward.  This  time 
his  little  bare  foot  came  down  on  the  piece  of 
hot  iron  that  the  blacksmith  had  thrown  aside 
when  he  went  to  wait  on  his  new  customer. 

Jode  never  distinctly  remembered  what  hap- 
pened after  that,  he  was  so  nearly  crazed  with 
the  fierce  pain.  He  knew  that  the  blacksmith 
lifted  him  in  his  strong  arms,  and  carried  him, 
screaming,  to  the  house.  He  felt  some  woman 
bandage  his  foot  with  something  cool  and 
soothing,  and  wash  his  hot,  flushed  face.  Then 
two  of  the  big  boys  carried  him  home,  and  laid 
him  on  the  sitting-room  lounge,  and  went  off, 
forgetting  to  close  the  door. 

He  sat  up  and  called  his  mother.  No  one 
answered.  Everything  was  so  still  about  the 
house  that  his  own  voice  sounded  strange  when 
he  called.  Then  he  remembered  that  she  had 
gone  to  a  quilting  that  afternoon,  and  that 
Aunt  Jane  had  built  a  fire  away  down  by  the 
ash-hopper  and  was  making  soap.  So  it  was 
useless  to  call. 


JODE'S  CIRCUS  MONEY  61 

Three  or  four  chickens,  seeing  the  door  open, 
seized  that  opportunity  to  venture  in,  and 
walked  around  pecking  at  the  carpet,  and  look- 
ing inquiringly  at  the  disconsolate  figure  on 
the  lounge. 

"Shoo!"  he  cried,  savagely,  "you  tor- 
mentin'  old  things !  "  Then  he  hopped  across 
the  room  and  banged  the  door  after  them,  and 
hopped  back. 

The  throbbing  pain  in  his  foot,  and  the 
deserted  appearance  of  the  house,  brought  the 
tears  to  his  eyes.  Then  he  remembered  the 
show,  and  that  his  foot  would  not  be  well 
enough  for  him  to  earn  the  money  dropping 
corn.  He  would  have  to  miss  it.  Throwing 
himself  on  the  lounge  again,  he  cried  softly  to 
himself  with  great  sobs  that  nearly  choked 
him. 

When  his  mother  came  home,  she  found 
him  fast  asleep  with  cheeks  and  lashes  wet,  and 
sobbing  at  intervals  in  his  sleep. 

Aunt  Jane  undertook  to  lecture  him  next  day 
about  his  disobedience  and  what  it  led  to,  but 
he  began  to  cry  again,  and  she  relented. 

"  Well,  Joseph,"  she  said,  looking  over  her 
square-bowed  spectacles,  "  I  guess  you've  had 


62  JODE'S  CIRCUS  MONEY 

a  hard  lesson,  and  one  you  won't  forget  in  a 
hurry.  As  long  as  your  heart's  set  on  goin' 
to  that  show,  if  you'll  learn  to  sew  carpet-rags 
I'll  pay  you  by  the  pound,  and  you  can  earn 
the  money  that  way." 

So  Jode  went  patiently  to  work  with  thread 
and  needle,  and  all  those  long  April  days  sat  in 
the  house  with  his  foot  on  a  pillow,  and  sewed 
yards  and  yards  of  carpet-rags. 

The  pounds  grew  slowly,  but  the  day  came 
at  last  when  he  rolled  his  balls  into  the  sack 
with  Aunt  Jane's,  and  two  new  silver  dimes  and 
a  nickel  jingled  in  his  pockets. 

Johnny  Harris  came  every  day  to  ask  about 
the  foot,  and  see  the  size  of  the  balls.  He 
looked  enviously  at  the  shining  coins  when 
Jode  proudly  displayed  them. 

"  Gracious !  Ain't  she  pretty  ?  "  he  ex- 
claimed, spinning  one  of  the  dimes  around 
on  the  table.  Then  he  balanced  it  on  his 
thumb-nail,  and  tried  its  edge  with  his  teeth, 
and  finally  put  it  in  his  mouth,  while  he  watched 
Aunt  Jane  get  out  the  steelyards,  to  weigh  the 
warp  for  the  new  carpet. 

Presently  he  turned  to  Jode  with  a  white, 
scared  face.  "  Oh,  I've  done  swallered  it ! " 


JODE'S  CIRCUS  MONEY  63 

"  You  mean  old  thing,"  cried  Jode.  "  I 
worked  days  and  days  to  earn  that  dime.  O 
Johnny!  what  did  you  do  it  foV?  " 

"  I    didn't    mean    to/'    protested    Johnny, 
eagerly.      "  It   just   slipped   down   as   easy  - 
this  way."     Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he 
took  up  the  other  dime,  and  popped  it  into 
his  mouth. 

"  I  was  rolling  it  'round  with  my  tongue  this 
way,  and  I  sort  o'  choked,  and  it  just  slipped 
—  ker-che-ew !  " 

Unlucky  Johnny!  This  dime  slipped  also, 
for  a  mighty  sneeze  seized  him,  and  sent  the 
money  rolling  across  the  floor.  Both  boys 
darted  after  it  with  outstretched  hands,  but  it 
bounced  through  the  open  door,  and  slipped  out 
of  sight  behind  the  old  stone  steps.  It  was 
useless  to  attempt  to  move  them.  The  toys 
of  half  a  century  had  found  a  hiding-place  in 
that  crack,  and  Aunt  Jane  herself  had,  years 
ago,  seen  it  swallow  up  the  cherished  treasure 
of  her  childish  affection  —  a  string  of  amber 
beads. 

Johnny  stood  in  open-mouthed  horror  at 
what  he  had  done,  while  Jode's  gaze  wandered 
from  the  steps  to  Johnny,  as  if  he  saw  the 


64  j CUE'S  CIRCUS  MONEY 

whole  menagerie,  animals,  tent  and  all,  disap- 
pearing down  that  gaping  crack  and  the  little 
red  throat.  It  Was  more  than  he  could  bear. 

"It's  all  your  fault,  Johnny  Harris;  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  you,  I  wouldn't  have  burnt 
my  foot  in  the  first  place.  I  just  can't  bear 
to  do  it  all  over  again,  and  besides,  there  isn't 
time  anyway." 

He  lifted  his  hand  angrily,  and  slapped 
Johnny's  fat,  freckled  face.  Then  both  the 
boys  began  to  cry. 

Aunt  Jane  disappeared  in  the  closet  for  some- 
thing, and  stood  there  a  moment,  shaking  with 
inaudible  laughter,  till  the  square-bowed  spec- 
tacles slid  down  her  nose.  She  looked  very 
stern,  though,  when  she  came  out  and  said, 
"  There !  there !  boys,  that's  enough.  It's  no 
use  to  cry  over  spilled  milk  or  swallowed 
money,  either/' 

"  Oh,  please,  ma'am,  Miss  Jane,"  begged 
Johnny,  "  won't  you  teach  me  to  sew  carpet- 
rags?  I'll  pay  him  back  sure  if  you'll  let  me." 

Aunt  Jane  looked  at  the  clumsy  little  hands, 
brown,  dirty,  and  covered  with  warts,  and 
shook  her  head.  It  seemed  a  hopeless  task. 
But  the  earnest  look  on  the  face  and  in  the 


JODE'S    CIRCUS    MONEY  65 

anxious  eyes  made  her  relent,  and  she  gave  a 
reluctant  promise. 

The  rag-sewing  commenced  again.  This 
time  two  boys  sat  on  the  door-step,  longing  to 
be  out  in  the  spring  wind  and  sunshine,  and 
one  nursed  his  lame  foot,  and  one  wrestled 
manfully  with  thread  that  would  snarl,  and 
needles  that  would  stick  into  his  clumsy  ringers. 

As  they  sewed  they  talked,  and  the  subject 
that  came  up  of tenest '  was  the  circus.  How 
Johnny  longed  to  go!  After  awhile  a  hope 
whispered  to  him,  that  maybe  he  could  pay  his 
debt  to  Jode  in  time  to  earn  enough  money  to 
go  himself. 

Although  Aunt  Jane  sorted  the  rags  so  that 
most  of  the  short  ones  fell  to  her  lot,  and  the 
long  ones  to  Johnny's,  and  contributed  many  a 
yard  on  the  sly,  Jode's  foot  was  well  before 
Johnny  proudly  paid  over  the  two  dimes,  and 
only  a  long,  red  scar  remained,  to  remind  Jode 
of  his  disobedience  and  punishment. 

"  Wisht  I  was  goin',  too,"  sighed  Johnny, 
when  the  last  pound  was  weighed  and  deliv- 
ered. 

Then,  regardless  of  ceremony,  he  pulled  his 
hat  over  his  eyes,  and  started  home  on  the  run. 


66  JODE'S  CIRCUS  MONEY 

He  did  not  go  all  the  way.  Aunt  Jane  spied 
him  when  she  went  to  the  barn  for  eggs.  He 
was  lying  on  the  hay  with  his  face  in  his 
arms. 

She  stood  and  looked  at  him  a  moment, 
thinking  what  an  honest  little  heart  it  was, 
beating  under  the  patched,  faded  jacket,  - 
thinking  of  his  drunken  father  and  his  miser- 
able home,  —  of  how  much  he  wanted  to  go 
with  the  other  boys,  and  how  keenly  he  felt 
his  poverty. 

Then  she  took  the  eggs  to  the  house,  and 
tying  her  sunbonnet  tighter,  started  resolutely 
down  the  lane  to  the  big  road  in  the  direction 
of  Johnny's  home.  The  hand  under  her  ging- 
ham apron  gripped  firmly  an  old  leather  purse. 

That  evening  as  Jode  sat  in  the  twilight, 
just  inside  the  door,  listening  to  the  frogs 
croaking  in  the  meadow-pond,  a  dusky  little 
figure  came  running  down  the  path.  It  was 
Johnny. 

"Hi!  Jode,"  he  cried,  "I'm  a-goin',  too! 
I'm  a-goin',  too!  I'm  too  glad  to  hold  still. 
The  money  jest  rained  down  like  the  manna  on 
ole  Moses!  I  don't  know  who  left  it,  but  it 
was  left  at  our  house,  and  it  was  left  fer  me !  " 


JODE'S  CIRCUS  MONEY  67 

Then,  throwing  himself  on  the  ground,  he 
turned  one  somersault  after  another  down  the 
path  into  the  dewy  darkness  of  the  warm  April 
night. 


JIMMY'S  ERRAND 


JIMMY'S  ERRAND 


"  WELL,  I  declare  if  Abe  isn't  the  most  for- 
getful boy  I  ever  saw !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Per- 
kins, as  she  emptied  the  contents  of  a  large 
market-basket  upon  the  kitchen  table.  "  This 
makes  the  second  time  he's  been  to  town  and 
back  this  week,  and  he's  forgotten  that  soda 
both  times.  Jimmy !  "  she  called  out  to  a 
freckle-faced  boy  who  was  making  the  old  dog 
walk  around  the  kitchen  floor  on  its  hind  feet, 
"  climb  up  to  the  top  pantry  shelf  and  see  if 
there's  any  spice  left  in  those  tin  boxes." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  make,  ma  ?  "  lan- 
guidly inquired  a  pale  girl  who  sat  by  the 
stove  shaking  with  a  chill. 

"  Why,  I  intended  to  make  a  cake  for  the 
new  preacher's  donation-party,"  answered  Mrs. 
Perkins.  "  That's  what  the  committee  asked 
71 


72  JIMMY'S  ERRAND 

for  —  marble-cake  and  biscuits.  Did  you  find 
anything,  Jimmy  ?  " 

"No'm.  They're  all  empty."  The  boy 
jumped  down  and  went  back  to  the  patient  old 
dog,  which  he  now  converted  into  a  wheel- 
barrow and  trundled  around  on  its  clumsy 
fore  paws. 

"What  shall  I  do!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Per- 
kins, in  despair.  "  There's  not  a  speck  of  spice 
or  soda  in  the  house." 

This  was  before  the  days  of  baking-powder, 
and  it  was  eight  miles  to  the  nearest  town. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  answered  Maria,  with  her 
teeth  chattering.  "  Let  Abe  saddle  old  Blaze 
and  go  up  to  Doctor  Spinner's.  He  always 
keeps  such  things  on  hand,  and  we  can  send 
for  some  more  quinine  at  the  same  time." 

"  And  be  about  as  likely  to  get  soap  and  knit- 
ting-needles as  anything  else!  "  replied  her 
mother,  with  a  frown.  "  It's  a  pity  a  boy  as 
old  as  Abe  is  can't  be  trusted  to  remember  any- 
thing!" 

"  Let  Jimmy  go,"  suggested  Maria.  "  It's 
only  three  miles,  and  he  can  easily  get  back 
by  dinner-time." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Perkins,  "  I  don't  know  of 


JIMMY'S  ERKAND  73 

any  reason  why  he  shouldn't  be  trusted  with  the 
horse,  and  he  can  be  depended  on  to  do  the 
errand  a  sight  better  than  Abe." 

Jimmy's  freckled  face  beamed  with  delight. 
He  had  expected  to  spend  the  morning  hoeing 
in  the  garden.  He  had  been  waiting  the  last 
half -hour  for  his  father  to  call  him  and  set  him 
at  work ;  but  it  was  not  the  prospect  of  escap- 
ing a  disagreeable  task  or  of  cantering  along 
the  road  on  the  old  blaze-faced  horse  that 
pleased  him  most.  It  was  the  fact  that  his 
mother  and  Maria  regarded  him  as  more  trust- 
worthy than  Abe,  and  Abe  was  nearly  grown. 

He  had  never  before  so  completely  appre- 
ciated his  true  worth  nor  felt  such  a  sense  of 
his  own  importance  as  when  his  mother  en- 
trusted him  with  the  errand,  and  gave  him  a 
message  for  the  doctor's  wife.  Maria's  words 
of  praise  were  still  in  his  ears  when  he  ran 
down  the  path,  hitching  up  a  broken  suspender 
as  he  went. 

"  What  are  you  up  to  now?  "  inquired  Abe, 
as  Jimmy  walked  into  the  barn  in  a  lordly  way 
and  took  down  the  saddle. 

"  Up  to  takin'  a  ride,"  answered  Jimmy,  in 
a  way  that  nettled  his  older  brother. 


74  JIMMY  S    ERRAND 

"Not  on  that  saddle,  you  ain't!"  retorted 
Abe.  "  I'm  goin'  to  mill." 

"  Then  you'll  have  to  ride  bareback,"  was 
the  cool  reply.  "I'm  goin'  on  an  errand  for 
mother,  and,  what's  more,  I'm  goin'  to  have 
the  saddle.  Can't  I,  pa  ?  "  he  asked,  as  his 
father  came  in. 

"  No,  Jimmy,"  answered  his  father,  when 
both  boys  had  stated  the  case.  "  Abe  is  bigger, 
and  he's  got  the  farthest  to  go." 

Abe  laughed  provokingly.  "  I  don't  care!  " 
muttered  Jimmy.  "  You  couldn't  be  trusted 
to  do  the  errand.  Mother  said  so.  So  you 
needn't  laugh." 

Abe's  face  flushed.  He  knew  his  failing,  and 
did  not  like  to  be  reminded  of  it. 

"  You  can  take  Maria's  side-saddle !  "  called 
Mr.  Perkins,  as  he  went  on  out  to  the  corn- 
crib. 

"  Better  not,"  remarked  Abe.  "  It's  brand- 
new,  and  she'd  feel  awful  bad  if  anything 
should  happen  to  it.  It  might  get  spoiled." 

Jimmy  did  not  want  to  take  it,  and  had  not 
intended  to  do  so,  but  the  spirit  of  contrariness 
seemed  to  have  possession  of  him.  That  re- 
mark settled  the  matter.  "  You  might  spoil 


JIMMY  S    ERRAND  75 

it,"  he  said,  "  but  I  guess  Maria'll  trust  me  to 
bring  it  home  safe,  if  I  am  ever  so  much  smaller 
than  you !  " 

Presently,  seated  astride  the  new  side-sad- 
dle, Jimmy  rode  up  to  the  kitchen  door. 

"  You  don't  care  if  I  take  it,  do  you?  "  he 
called  to  Maria.  She  wrapped  herself  more 
closely  in  the  heavy  shawl,  and  came  out  into 
the  warm  sunshine,  her  teeth  still  chattering. 

"  No,  I  guess  not,"  she  said,  putting  out  her 
shaking  hand  to  feel  the  soft  plush  of  the  cush- 
ioned seat.  "  Isn't  that  a  pretty  shade  of  red? 
It's  the  handsomest  one  in  the  township.  Oh, 
don't  forget,  Jimmy;  mother  said  to  ask  Doc- 
tor Spinner  to  put  up  another  bottle  of  tonic 
like  that  he  gave  me  last  spring." 

"  All  right !  "  said  Jimmy,  impatient  to  be 
off. 

Digging  his  heels  in  old  Blaze's  sides,  he 
started  down  the  road  on  a  gallop.  This  was 
too  lively  a  gait  for  the  old  horse  to  sustain 
long,  and  she  soon  settled  down  to  a  steady 
walk. 

For  the  first  half-mile  Jimmy  sat  very  erect, 
with  a  growing  sense  of  his  own  importance 
and  superiority  over  his  brother  Abe.  Then  he 


76  JIMMY'S  ERRAND 

yielded  to  the  gracious  influence  of  the  sweet 
spring  morning,  and,  throwing  one  foot  over 
the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  began  to  whistle  in 
answer  to  a  redbird's-call. 

Presently  he  tired  of  riding  sidewise,  and 
by  the  time  he  reached  the  field  where  the 
Fishback  boys  were  dropping  corn  he  was  up 
on  his  knees.  Inspired  by  spectators,  he  urged 
his  horse  to  go  faster  and  faster,  and  scram- 
bling to  his  feet  as  he  came  up  with  them, 
passed  them  with  a  cheer.  They  stopped  their 
work  long  enough  to  look  after  him  and  wave 
their  hats  until  he  disappeared  around  a  bend 
in  the  road. 

"  It's  a  mighty  nice  thing,"  he  thought,  com- 
placently, "  to  be  able  to  ride  around  the  coun- 
try this  way,  when  everybody  else  has  to  work." 

By  this  time  he  had  reached  the  bridge  across 
Pigeon  Creek.  It  was  shallow  enough  to  ford 
at  this  place,  and  he  concluded  to  try  it.  Clat- 
tering down  the  bank,  he  rode  into  the  water 
with  a  splash.  Overhead  the  great  branches 
of  the  sycamore-trees  leaned  across»the  stream 
and  met  each  other.  It  was  cool  and  shady,  and 
so  still  that  the  only  sound  he  could  hear  was 


JIMMY'S  ERRAND  77 

the  gurgling  noise  old  Blaze  made  as  she  bent 
her  head  to  drink. 

Suddenly  a  shrill  whistle  made  him  start  so 
violently  that  he  almost  lost  his  balance,  and 
clutched  at  the  loosened  bridle  to  save  himself 
from  falling.  Looking  in  the  direction  of  the 
whistle,  he  saw  two  big  bare  feet  dangling  from 
a  sycamore  limb  that  hung  half-way  across  the 
stream.  Glancing  up,  he  saw  the  owner  of  the 
feet.  It  was  Coon  Mills^  the  laziest,  most 
"  trifling  "  fellow  in  that  part  of  the  country 
—  so  everybody  said. 

There  was  no  need  to  ask  him  what  he  was 
doing,  when  the  white  blossoms  of  the  dog- 
wood-trees had  been  proclaiming  for  a  \veek, 
from  every  hill  and  hollow,  that  the  fishing 
season  had  begun.  His  luck  as  a  fisherman  was 
as  proverbial  as  his  laziness. 

"  What  have  you  got  ?  "  called  Jimmy.  For 
answer  Coon  held  up  a  string  of  catfish,  so 
large  that  Jimmy  gave  a  long  whistle. 

"  I've  jes'  been  a-pullin'  'em  out  as  fast  as 
I  could  throw  in  my  line,"  he  said.  "  Thar 
hain't  been  nothin'  like  it  sence  ole  Noah's 
time." 

"My!     You~  must   be   a-seein'    fun,"   said 


78  JIMMY'S  ERRAND 

Jimmy,  watching  him  enviously  as  he  baited 
his  hook  and  tossed  it  into  the  water. 
"  Wouldn't  I  like  to  try  it,  though!  " 

"  Come  on?  if  yer  want  ter,"  answered  Coon. 
"  Thar's  another  line  in  my  basket,  and  you 
kin  cut  a  pole  from  the  sprouts  agin  that  stump 
down  yender." 

"  I  ought  to  be  a-goin'.  I've  got  an  errand 
to  do,"  answered  Jimmy.  "  But  I  would  like 
to  haul  in  just  one." 

"  Oh,  come  on !  "  insisted  Coon.  "  You  can 
spare  ten  minutes,  can't  you?  " 

There  was  an  attractiveness  about  this  over- 
grown, good-natured  fellow  that  all  the  smaller 
boys  found  irresistible.  Jimmy  could  have 
said  "  no  "  to  any  of  his  younger  companions, 
but  he  was  flattered  by  Coon's  notice,  and  an 
invitation  from  him  was  a  temptation  beyond 
his  strength  to  resist. 

A  few  minutes  later  old  Blaze  was  tied  to  a 
sapling.  Another  pair  of  feet  dangled  from  the 
sycamore  limb,  another  line  dipped  into  the 
water,  and  unbroken  silence  reigned  again  along 
the  shady  river. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  but  Jimmy, 
with  his  eyes  intent  on  the  bobbing  cork,  took 


JIMMY  S    ERRAND  79 

no  notice  of  the  flight  of  time.  Then  a  thrill 
went  through  him  as  he  felt  a  pull  on  his  line, 
and  in  his  excitement  he  almost  fell  off  his 
perch  into  the  water. 

"  It's  the  biggest  fish  of  the  season !  "  Coon 
declared,  as  he  helped  haul  it  in.  "  You're  in 
luck,  Jim;  you'd  better  try  it  agin." 

Old  Blaze  gnawed  the  bark  off  the  sapling  as 
far  as  she  could  reach,  and  then  stamped  and 
whinnied  in  vain.  Still  Jimmy  sat  on  the 
sycamore  limb,  confident  of  success  after  his 
first  great  triumph,  and  unable  to  tear  himself 
away  without  one  more  trophy. 

Coon  drew  up  his  line  at  intervals,  and  each 
time  Jimmy's  determination  to  catch  one  more 
increased.  The  minutes  slipped  by,  but  he  did 
not  notice  them,  nor  did  he  realize  that  the  sun 
was  nearly  overhead. 

Suddenly,  the  unmistakable  notes  of  a  din- 
ner-horn echoed  through  the  woods.  Startled 
into  the  consciousness  that  he  had  idled  away 
the  whole  morning,  Jimmy  started  for  the  bank 
in  such  haste  that  his  feet  slipped  on  the  smooth 
bark,  and  he  fell  across  the  limb.  He  scram- 
bled desperately  around,  and  managed  to  draw 
himself  up  again,  but  in  doing  so  lost  his  hold 


8o  JIMMY'S  ERRAND 

on  the  fish.  He  saw  it  go  tumbling  into  the 
water. 

A  hearty  laugh  from  Coon  followed  him 
down  the  bank  and  along  the  road,  as  he  gal- 
loped furiously  away. 

Mrs.  Spinner  thought  somebody  must  be 
dying  or  dead  when  she  saw  Jimmy  come  dash- 
ing up  to  the  house  in  such  haste,  and  hurried 
out  to  ask  the  news. 

"  The  doctor's  just  gone,"  she  said,  after  he 
had  told  his  errand,  and  delivered  his  mother's 
message.  "  He  had  a  call  down  to  old  Mr. 
Wakeley's,  and  left  in  the  middle  of  his  dinner. 
Law  me,  it's  too  bad!  You'd  better  wait, 
though.  He'll  likely  not  be  gone  very  long. 
Come  in  and  have  something  to  eat,  won't 
you?" 

Jimmy's  inclination  was  to  refuse,  but  his 
hunger  overcame  his  bashfulness,  and  he  fol- 
lowed Mrs.  Spinner  into  the  kitchen. 

She  had  already  eaten  her  dinner,  and  kept 
on  with  her  work,  pausing  often,  in  her  busy 
going  back  and  forth,  to  give  him  some  dish, 
or  hospitably  urge  him  to  help  himself. 

"  You'd  better  go  into  the  office  to  wait," 
she  said,  as  he  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the 


JIMMY'S  ERRAND  81 

table.  "  The  doctor'll  surely  be  along  pretty 
soon." 

The  little  room,  standing  by  itself  in  the 
front  yard,  did  double  duty  as  office  and  drug- 
store. Jimmy  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside 
the  door,  and  studied  the  odd  assortment  of 
bottles  on  the  opposite  shelves.  He  counted 
them  and  read  all  the  labels.  Then  he  saw  a 
case  of  dentist's  instruments  lying  on  the  table. 
He  examined  these  curiously,  fitting  the  forceps 
on  each  of  his  teeth,  and  then  looked  around  for 
other  sources  of  amusement. 

Several  books  with  leather  bindings  lay  on 
the  desk,  and  he  sat  down  to  look  at  them. 
Books  were  few  in  the  Perkins  household,  anil 
the  first  one  he  opened  proved  very  entertain- 
ing. It  was  an  illustrated  work  on  anatomy, 
and  he  was  soon  completely  absorbed  in  the 
interesting  pictures  of  bones  and  muscles. 

The  afternoon  was  sultry  and  still.  A  few 
flies  buzzed  on  the  window-pane.  Just  outside 
the  door  an  old  hen  clucked  and  scratched  for 
her  downy  yellow  brood.  Jimmy  could  look  out 
and  see  some  one  ploughing  in  a  distant  field, 
and  hear  a  lusty  voice  at  intervals,  calling, 
"  Gee !  Haw !  W'-o-a !  "  to  the  yoke  of  oxen. 


82  JIMMY'S  ERRAND 

After  a  long  while,  when  sitting  so  still  had 
made  him  drowsy,  he  went  to  the  door  and 
looked  up  and  down  the  road.  No  one  was  in 
sight.  Even  the  sun  had  gone  behind  a  cloud. 
He  began  to  grow  uneasy,  as  he  thought  of  his 
mother  waiting  impatiently  for  the  soda  to 
begin  her  baking. 

"  If  the  doctor  isn't  here  by  the  time  I  finish 
looking  at  the  books,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I'll 
go  anyway,  without  waiting  for  Maria's  medi- 
cine." 

He  went  back  to  his  chair  and  turned  to  the 
pictures  again.  Presently  he  began  to  yawn. 
Then  his  eyelids  drooped,  and  his  head  nodded 
so  low  that  it  rested  on  the  open  book  upon 
the  table.  He  knew  nothing  more  until  he  felt 
Mrs.  Spinner  shaking  him  by  the  shoulder.  He 
started  up  to  find  the  little  office  nearly  dark. 

"  I  plumb  forgot  all  about  you,"  Mrs.  Spin- 
ner said,  "  until  the  doctor  sent  word  he 
couldn't  come  home  to-night.  Old  Mr.  Wake- 
ley's  a-dying.  You'd  better  hurry  away,  for 
there's  a  heavy  thunder-storm  coming  up." 

She  weighed  out  the  soda  and  spices,  wrap- 
ping each  package  separately,  and  then  tied 
them  together  in  one  bundle.  It  was  about  the 


JIMMY'S  ERRAND  83 

middle  of  the  afternoon  when  Jimmy  had  gone 
to  sleep.  Now  the  sun  had  set.  The  sky  was 
black  with  clouds,  and  as  he  hurriedly  mounted 
his  horse  and  tied  the  bundle  to  the  horn  of 
the  saddle  he  heard  a  distant  rumble  of  thunder. 
Old  Blaze  was  as  anxious  to  get  home  as  her 
rider,  and  needed  little  urging  to  make  her 
travel  her  fastest. 

They  were  going  directly  toward  the  storm. 
By  the  time  they  had  travelled  a  mile  and  a 
half  its  full  force  was  upon  them.  The  wind 
blew  furiously  and  whirled  the  dust  along  the 
road  in  blinding  columns.  It  twisted  and  tossed 
the  tall  trees  as  easily  as  if  they  had  been 
bushes.  Great  limbs  swayed  wildly,  and  now 
and  then  one  crashed  to  the  ground.  Once, 
when  she  was  a  colt,  old  Blaze  had  been  hit 
by  a  falling  branch  in  a  thunder-storm,  and 
had  never  forgotten  the  terror  of  it.  Now,  as 
a  vivid  glare  of  lightning  blinded  her,  she 
reared,  plunged  forward,  and  then  stood  trem- 
bling, with  dilated  eyes  and  quivering  nostrils. 

They  were  in  the  midst  of  a  thick  wood. 
No  amount  of  urging  would  induce  the  mare 
to  go  on,  and  Jimmy  got  down  to  lead  her. 
Something  of  the  horse's  fear  seemed  to  be 


84  JIMMY'S  ERRAND 

communicated  to  the  boy.  He  was  naturally 
brave,  but  the  ferocious  power  of  the  storm 
awed  him  into  utter  fear. 

The  rain  poured  harder  and  harder.  Jimmy 
was  wet  to  the  skin,  and  the  water  ran  down 
in  streams  from  his  hat  brim.  He  pushed 
ahead  for  a  long  time,  wondering  why  he  did 
not  come  to  the  creek.  Instead  of  reaching 
open  country,  he  seemed  to  be  getting  deeper 
into  the  woods.  Then  he  remembered  that 
two  bridle-paths  led  into  the  main  road  —  one 
directly  into  it,  the  other  around  the  base  of 
the  hill.  He  had  taken  the  wrong  path  and 
was  travelling  in  a  circle. 

By  the  time  he  reached  his  starting-point 
again  the  storm  had  abated.  The  wind  did  not 
blow  so  hard,  and  the  thunder  had  gone  growl- 
ing away  toward  the  eastern  hills.  He  led  the 
horse  up  to  a  stump,  climbed  into  the  saddle, 
and  this  time  started  on  the  right  path  home- 
ward. 

As  he  rode  down  the  lane  a  lantern  glim- 
mered in  the  dooryard  and  moved  toward  the 
barn.  "  Well,  you  air  a  purty  fellow !  "  called 
Abe's  voice.  "  Mother's  mighty  nigh  wild 


JIMMY'S  ERRAND  85 

about  you.  She  jest  now  sent  me  down  to  git 
a  horse  to  go  out  and  hunt  you." 

Jimmy  slid  from  the  saddle  without  saying 
anything.  When  Abe  saw  how  pale  and  wet 
he  was,  he  added,  in  a  kinder  tone,  "  I'll  put 
the  horse  up.  You  take  your  things  and  strike 
for  the  house." 

He  lifted  the  lantern  in  order  to  see  to  untie 
the  package,  and  then  gave  an  exclamation  of 
astonishment. 

"  Well,  I  wisht  you'd  look !  The  rain  has 
melted  every  bit  of  that  soda.  There's  nothin' 
left  but  the  bag.  And  the  spice  is  all  sp'iled, 
too.  My  gracious !  "  he  added,  after  another 
look,  "  it's  run  down  all  over  the  saddle,  and 
taken  the  colour  out.  My!  Won't  Maria  be 
mad?  It's  eternally  ruined!  Well,  I  must 
say  I  like  your  way  of  doin'  errands !  " 

It  was  a  very  penitent,  humble  boy  who  crept 
into  the  kitchen  and  gave  a  shamefaced  account 
of  the  day's  doings.  Maria,  who  had  sat  with 
her  face  hidden  in  her  apron  during  the  storm, 
shuddering  at  the  thought  that  he  might  be 
out  in  it  alone,  ran  to  get  him  some  dry  clothes, 
without  a  word  of  reproach  about  the  saddle. 

"  I'll  save  enough  out  of  the  garden  truck 


86  JIMMY'S  ERRAND 

to  get  it  re-cushioned,"  he  promised.  "  Sure 
I  will,  Maria." 

But  Maria  gave  him  a  little  squeeze.  "  Don't 
you  worry  about  that,  Jimmy,"  she  said,  "  so 
long  as  you  got  home  safe.  It  don't  make  so 
much  difference  about  the  soda,  either,  for  we 
got  word  this  afternoon  that  the  donation-party 
has  been  put  off." 

His  self-respect  was  restored  by  such  a  warm 
reception,  and  his  spirits  rose  until  he  began 
to  think  he  was  something  of  a  hero,  after  all. 
As  he  ate  the  supper  his  mother  had  been  keep- 
ing hot  for  him,  she  and  Maria  listened  sym- 
pathetically to  his  account  of  the  storm. 

Abe,  who  had  come  in  from  the  barn  and 
was  drying  his  boots  by  the  fire,  said  nothing, 
but  his  quizzical  smile  was  more  provoking  than 
words.  It  reminded  Jimmy  of  the  boastful 
speech  he  had  made  that  morning. 

He  grew  red  in  the  face,  stopped  talking,  and 
soon  made  an  excuse  to  slip  away  to  bed.  As 
he  lay  listening  to  the  rain  on  the  roof,  he  said 
to  himself,  "  I  wisht  I  hadn't  bragged  so  about 
doin'  errands  better  than  Abe!  He'll  never  be 
done  a-hinting  to  me  about  soda  and  side- 
saddles!" 


"BLAME  that  pig-headed  Schmidt!" 
Squire  Hardy  was  in  the  sitting-room  talk- 
ing to  his  wife.     "  To  think  of  his  kickin'  just 
because  the  little  schoolma'am  is  bound  to  cele- 
brate the  day !     Her  askin'  for  nothing  except 
leave  to  use  the  schoolhouse!    Confound  him! 
The  rest  of  the  Germans  'd  be  patriotic  enough 
-  they  are  all  'round  these  parts  —  if  Schmidt 
wa'n't  so  everlastingly  down  on  us,  and  used 
his  influence  with  the  rest !  " 

* 

"  He's  a  well-meaning,  peaceable  neighbour, 
Hiram,"  said  the  squire's  wife,  placidly. 

"  So's  horses  and  cows.  Gimme  folks  that's 
got  some  public  spirit  in  'em.  Think  of  the  men 
that  took  up  the  land  all  round  these  parts  when 
89 


9O      WASHINGTON  S    BIRTHDAY    AT    HARDYVILLE 

we  come  in  —  all  full  of  Fourth  of  July.  I 
wisht  they  hadn't  been  so  keen  to  sell  out  at  a 
profit  —  that's  the  worst  of  us  Americans. 
When  they  sold  out,  of  course  the  Germans 
come  in,  —  couldn't  blame  'em  a  mite,  —  an' 
Schmidt  he  come  fust,  an'  he  bejuggled  all  the 
rest.  An'  he's  pretty  nigh  bejuggled  the 
Gateses  and  two  or  three  other  American  fam- 
ilies like  'em,  that's  gettin'  more  like  Schmidt 
year  by  year.  Why,  there  ain't  been  a  mite  of 
public  improvement  done  this  ten  year  back." 
"  Oh,  now,  Hiram,  we've  got  the  post-office." 
"  Yes  —  much  thanks  to  the  rest  of  'em!  It 
was  me  worked  and  kicked  and  badgered  till 
I  got  them  a  tri-weekly  mail,  and  much  use 
they  make  of  it !  " 

The  squire  gazed  at  the  post-office  as  he 
spoke.  It  consisted  of  an  ash  "  seketary  "  in 
one  corner  of  the  sitting-room,  and  was  much 
more  than  commodious  enough  for  the  few 
letters  and  newspapers  that  came  to  Hardy- 
ville  three  times  a  week,  brought  from  the 
county  town,  eight  miles  away,  by  a  carrier 
with  a  gig.  The  squire  was  delivering  his 
opinions  as  usual  while  waiting  for  the  carrier 
to  appear. 


WASHINGTON  S    BIRTHDAY   AT    HARDY VILLE     QI 

"  I  don't  rec'lect  much  public  improvements 
ever  bein'  in  Hardyville,"  said  Mrs.  Hardy, 
drily. 

"  There  would  'a'  been,"  said  her  husband, 
testily.  "  There  would  'a'  been  if  the  Ameri- 
cans had  kept  on.  To  think  of  them  begin- 
ning to  sell  out  and  move  furder  west  —  just 
as  they  were  gettin'  their  land  into  shape  for 
havin'  some  time  to  themselves  to  improve 
things!  Thank  goodness,  they  did  put  up  the 
church  and  schoolhouse  —  I  guess  we'd  never 
have  had  neither  if  it  wasn't  for  the  American 
spirit  here  when  this  settlement  begun." 

"  Sho,  Hiram?  You  can't  say  but  what  the 
German  folks  keeps  the  church  and  schoolhouse 
going." 

"  Going  —  yes,  going  to  rack  and  ruin  all  the 
same!  Schoolhouse  leakin'  like  sixty  —  and 
catch  'em  taxin'  themselves  for  a  new  roof!  I 
wonder  Miss  Atworth  can  stay  in  the  place  — 
her  and  the  children  mirin'  shoe-mouth  deep  in 
mud  to  get  to  school  in  the  winter !  Nary  a  rod 
of  corduroy  will  they  lay  to  give  their  own 
young  ones  a  decent  walk.  But  they  keep  their 
cattle  comfortable  enough  —  that  means  money 
in  their  pockets.  All  they  care  about  is  having 


92      WASHINGTON  S    BIRTHDAY    AT    HARDYVILLE 

their  corn  and  stock  turn  out  well.  They  don't 
care  if  the  hull  township,  and  the  hull  Union, 
too,  for  that  matter,  was  to  go  to  the  dogs. 
Hello !  here  comes  Jack  with  t4ie  mail-bag !  " 

A  little  while  later  Squire  Hardy  was  in  the 
act  of  distributing  the  bag's  small  contents, 
when  two  farmers  walked  in  without  even 
stopping  to  stamp  the  mud  off  their  cowhide 
boots.  Mrs.  Hardy  kept  on  placidly  knitting 
beyond  the  fireplace;  she  was  used  to  such  in- 
vasions of  the  sitting-room,  from  which  she 
had  removed  the  carpet  soon  after  the  post- 
office  was  granted  to  the  sleepy  settlement. 

"  Draw  up  to  the  fire,  Mr.  Gates,"  she  said, 
hospitably.  "  Take  that  rocker,  Mr.  Schmidt." 

Mr.  Gates  kicked  his  feet  against  the  and- 
irons to  rid  them  of  clay  and  snow. 

"  Cold  day,"  he  remarked,  settling  his  coon- 
skin  cap  more  firmly  on  his  head.  "  What's 
this  I  hear  about  the  new  teacher  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  ?  "  snapped  the  squire,  looking 
around. 

"  Some  say  she's  dead  sot  on  gettin'  up 
them  doin's  on  Washington's  Birthday." 

"  Well,  s'pose  she  is  ?  "  said  the  squire.  "  She 
ain't  askin'  nothin'  but  the  schoolhouse  for  an 


WASHINGTON  S    BIRTHDAY   AT    HARDYVILLE     95 

evening,  and  I've  got  power  to  let  her  have 
that.  I'm  school  agent,  ain't  I  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  the  contrary.  But  to  my  way 
of  thinkin',  she's  just  a-wastin'  time  over  a 
lot  of  foolishness.  Hey,  Schmidt  ?  " 

"  Yah,  das  ist  so!  "  assented  the  man  in  the 
rocking-chair,  as  he  took  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth.  "  I  tolt  mem  poy  I  shust  dook  him 
oudt  of  school  and  put  him  to  voork  ven  I  hear 
some  more  of  dose  grazy  idees." 

"Crazy?  Nothing  crazy  about  it!"  inter- 
rupted the  old  squire,  hotly.  "  I'll  just  tell 
you,  gentlemen,  it  was  a  mighty  good  deed  old 
Abel  Dawson  quit  teaching  here.  He'd  run 
along  in  the  same  old  rut  for  the  last  ten  year, 
till  things  had  just  about  dried  up.  I  made 
a  visit  to  'em  last  fall.  I  put  some  questions 
to  the  scholars,  too.  There  wa'n't  but  four 
out  of  the  hull  of  'em  that  was  exactly  sure 
who  the  President  of  these  United  States  was. 
Nary  one  could  name  the  Vice- President !  " 

"  Dey  lairn  goot  vot  vos  in  de  book,"  said 
Schmidt. 

"  Yes !  "  roared  the  squire.  "  Abel  stood 
over  them  with  a  rod,  and  frightened  the  spell- 
ing-book into  'em  till  they  could  say  it  off, 


96    WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  AT  HARDYVILLE 

back'ards  or  forrards.  But  they  was  like  a  lot 
of  skeered  parrots  that  didn't  understand  what 
they  was  saying." 

"  Dot  vos  more  goot  as  learn  'em  yoost 
foolishness  —  badriodism  und  der  flag  und  all 
dot  plab  'bout  der  country  und  der  Union." 

"  Look  out,  now,  Schmidt !  I  ain't  goin'  to 
set  still  and  hear  you  calling  patriotism  '  blab.' 
I  tell  you  in  only  nine  weeks  Miss  Atworth's 
got  the  poor  little  souls  waked  up.  They  never 
knew  before  that  they  had  a  country.  History 
and  geography  mean  something  to  them  now. 
She'll  make  intelligent  citizens  out  of  'em  if 
you'll  keep  your  hands  off.  I'm  out  in  my  guess 
if  she  don't  give  this  whole  township  a  shakin' 
up  before  this  thing  is  over,  and  teach  'em  some 
public  sperit." 

Mr.  Gates  gave  a  sniff.  "  They  say  she's 
had  a  piano  hauled  out  from  the  city,  too,"  he 
said.  "  Hope  she  don't  intend  to  levy  on  the 
parents  to  pay  for  it.  She'll  get  nothing  out  of 
me.  I'll  tell  her  that  right  now." 

"  Shucks ! "  cried  the  squire,  as  he  handed 
Schmidt  his  Zeitung.  "  Neither  of  you  needn't 
worry.  She's  too  smart  to  expect  to  get  blood 
out  of  turnips." 


97 

"  Veil,  all  I  haf  to  say,"  was  Schmidt's  part- 
ing remark,  as  he  wound  his  blue  woollen 
muffler  about  his  neck,  "  if  she  keeps  on  mit 
dose  voolishness,  I  dake  mem  Karl  oudt  of 
school,  right  avay  alretty.  Dot  vos  better  dot 
he  voork  as  to  vaste  his  time  so." 

"  Poor  little  Miss  Atworth !  "  sighed  Mrs. 
Hardy,  as  she  watched  the  two  men  tramp  off 
together.  "  I'm  powerful  glad  she's  boarding 
with  us.  The  whole  neighbourhood  is  down  on 
her  new-fangled  ways.  I'm  going  right  out 
now  and  make  something  extry  nice  and  hot 
for  supper.  It's  pretty  near  sundown,  and  she'll 
come  in  soon  all  wore  out  with  her  day's  work." 

The  little  teacher  did  need  the  good  cheer  and 
"  extry  nice  "  supper  that  awaited  her  in  the 
cosy  kitchen,  for  she  had  felt  much  discouraged 
as  she  trudged  homeward  through  the  falling 
snow.  Her  pupils  had  nearly  all  been  telling 
her  the  same  thing  that  day.  It  was  that  their 
parents  scouted  the  idea  of  helping  her  to  cele- 
brate Washington's  Birthday. 

She  had  come  from  a  distant  town  to  teach 
the  Hardy vi lie  school  in  hope  to  lay  up  enough 
money  to  complete  her  art  course;  but  now  it 
seemed  to  her  that  something  more  important 


98    WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  AT  HARDYVILLE 

than  art  demanded  her  services  and  the  small 
sum  she  had  saved.  The  dull,  colourless  lives 
of  the  children  appealed  irresistibly  to  her 
sympathies,  and  she  was  often  amazed  at  the 
utter  absence  of  any  spirit  of  patriotism. 

"  How  could  the  poor  children  learn  patriot- 
ism? "  said  Mrs.  Hardy.  "  Their  parents  don't 
feel  it,  except  for  their  Vaterland.  And  cer- 
tainly nothing  has  been  done  by  the  public 
round  here  to  make  the  children  love  this  coun- 
try. Such  lives!  The  parents  get  up  before 
daylight,  and  dig  till  dark.  They  usually  force 
the  boys  and  girls  to  live  like  overworked 
horses.  All  they  think  of  is  making  money. 
That  big  room  up-stairs  in  the  schoolhouse  was 
built  for  a  public  hall.  It  has  not  been  opened 
for  fifteen  years  for  any  kind  of  an  entertain- 
ment, not  even  a  magic  lantern  show.  It  is 
the  same  old  treadmill  existence  year  in  and 
year  out.  The  children  don't  get  their  lives 
brightened  —  no  public  holidays  are  celebrated 
here,  not  even  the  Fourth  of  July.  How  can 
they  love  the  country  ?  " 

"  I  shall  certainly  give  them  something  bet- 
ter," Miss  Atworth  had  said,  and  the  upshot 
was  her  determination  to  celebrate  Washing- 


WASHINGTON  S    BIRTHDAY    AT    HARDYVILLE     99 

ton's  Birthday.  The  indifference  or  hostility 
of  the  parents  had  but  roused  her  American 
spirit,  even  to  the  resolve  that  she  would  bear 
the  entire  expense  herself,  if  none  would  con- 
tribute from  their  plenty. 

"  Ten  dollars,"  she  reflected,  "  will  buy  dec- 
orations and  material  for  costumes  and  stage 
curtains.  Another  ten  will  rent  a  piano.  Most 
of  the  children  have  never  even  seen  one.  All 
my  spare  time  must  go  to  getting  up  the 
entertainment,  and  all  my  savings,  too.  Well, 
I'm  glad  —  I  guess  I  can  give  up  so  much 
for  my  country.  It  will  be  worth  while  if 
I  can  make  its  '  Father's  '  birthday  the  greatest 
gala  day  these  poor  little  souls  have  ever 
known." 

Not  a  particle  of  encouragement  did  she  get 
from  any  of  the  parents  except  Peter  Dowling, 
a  one-armed  veteran  of  the  Civil  War,  and  he 
was  much  more  discouraging  than  he  meant 
to  be. 

"  Go  on,  I  wish  you  luck,  young  lady,"  he 
would  observe.  "  You  can  count  on  me  for  any- 
thing a  one-armed  man  can  do.  But  what's 
the  use?  I've  tried  and  tried  to  get  some 
'Merican  sentiment  into  these  youngsters. 


IOO     WASHINGTON  S    BIRTHDAY    AT    HARDYVILLE 

'Tain't  no  go  —  and  never  will  be.  But  you 
can  count  on  me  to  hooray  for  you  all  the  same. 
I'll  be  thar  if  nobody  else  is." 

"  Maybe  you  tried  to  scold  them  into  patriot- 
ism, as  the  squire  does,"  said  the  little  teacher. 
"  I  don't  think  that's  the  best  way." 

"  It  didn't  work,  anyhow,"  said  the  veteran, 
and  walked  away. 

Miss  Atworth's  programme,  besides  the  dec- 
oration of  the  schoolhouse,  comprised  tableaux 
and  the  recitation  of  patriotic  poems  and  ad- 
dresses by  her  larger  pupils.  But  most  of  the 
children  soon  received  strict  orders  to  hurry 
home  at  four  o'clock,  to  attend  to  the  milking 
and  evening  chores.  They  were  also  kept  at 
work  till  the  last  possible  minute  in  the  morn- 
ing. But  with  only  noon-time  and  recess  for 
practising  their  parts,  her  enthusiasm  worked 
wonders. 

"  It  ought  to  be  a  grand  success,"  said  Miss 
Atworth,  as  she  took  a  final  approving  survey 
of  the  decorations  the  afternoon  of  the  twenty- 
first.  "  Only  it's  a  little  too  warlike.  I  wish 
I  had  an  old-fashioned  pruning-hook  to  hang 
across  that  sword  between  the  windows." 

"  Mr.  Schmidt  has  one,"  volunteered  Sarah 


WASHINGTON  S   BIRTHDAY    AT   HARDYVILLE      IOI 

Gates.  "  But  he's  so  mad  about  our  wasting  so 
much  time,  as  he  calls  it,  that  it's  as  much  as  a 
fellow's  head  is  worth  to  ask  him  for  it.  I 
heard  him  tell  pa  he  was  going  to  keep  Karl 
at  home  to-morrow  night.  Isn't  that  mean?  " 

"  Keep  Karl  at  home!  "  cried  Miss  Atworth, 
in  dismay.  "  He  couldn't  be  so  mean  as  that !  " 

Karl  was  the  brightest  pupil  in  her  room  — 
a  big,  manly  boy  of  sixteen.  He  was  kept  at 
home  every  spring  and  fall  to  help  with  the 
work,  although  his  father  was  not  poor.  She 
had  taken  an  especial  interest  in  him  from  the 
first,  had  drilled  him  carefully  in  his  declama- 
tion, and  counted  on  him  as  the  star  of  the 
entertainment. 

"  Pa  wasn't  going  to  let  me  come,  either," 
continued  Sarah,  "  till  ma  told  him  you'd 
picked  me  out  of  all  the  school  to  be  the  God- 
dess of  Liberty,  and  that  I  was  going  to  have 
a  gold  crown  on,  and  gold  stars  spangled  over 
my  dress.  Ma's  awful  proud  because  I  was 
chosen  to  be  a  goddess." 

The  little  teacher  smiled.  She  was  not  with- 
out worldly  wisdom,  and  had  given  Sarah  such 
a  prominent  part  in  the  hope  that  it  might 
conciliate  the  whole  Gates  family.  Fortunately 


IO2     WASHINGTON  S    BIRTHDAY    AT   HARDYVILLE 

nothing  was  required  of  the  goddess  but  long 
hair  and  a  pretty  face  —  about  all  Sarah  had 
to  boast  of.  She  simply  could  not  learn. 

Miss  At  worth  locked  the  door  and  started 
rapidly  homeward.  What  should  she  do  if 
Karl  must  be  left  out  of  the  performance?  A 
quarter  of  a  mile  brought  her  to  the  lane  lead- 
ing from  the  pike  to  the  Schmidt  place,  and 
there  she  stopped  with  sudden  resolve. 

"  I'll  beard  that  old  lion  in  his  den,  and  ask 
him  for  his  pruning-hook.  That  will  be  an 
excuse  for  going,  and  will  give  me  an  oppor- 
tunity to  plead  Karl's  cause." 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  Miss  At  worth  ran 
up  the  squire's  front  walk,  and  danced  through 
the  house  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Oh,  such  luck !  "  she  cried,  gaily.  "  I  went 
to  see  Mr.  Schmidt,  and  some  good  angel 
prompted  me  to  speak  to  him  in  German. 
It  was  such  bad  German  —  perhaps  that's 
what  pleased  him.  Anyway  it  thawed  him 
right  out.  He  lent  me  his  pruning-hook, 
and  showed  me  over  his  big  barn.  Of 
course  I  admired  his  fine  cattle,  and  then,  as  he 
got  more  and  more  pleased  at  my  showing 
such  an  astonishing  lot  of  sense,  I  praised  Karl 


WASHINGTON  S    BIRTHDAY   AT    HARDYVILLE      IO3 

so  highly  that  he  made  a  complete  surrender. 
He  is  coming  to-morrow  night  to  bring  the 
whole  Schmidt  family,  from  the  old  gross- 
unit tcr,  to  the  baby.  Hurrah  for  Washington's 
Birthday!" 

Never  had  the  old  public  hall  held  such  an 
astonished  and  delighted  audience  as  the  one 
that  crowded  into  it  that  memorable  night. 
Gay  festoons  of  bunting,  countless  little  flags, 
and  wreaths  of  evergreen  transformed  the 
dingy  old  place  completely. 

A  large  picture  of  Washington  placidly 
beamed  from  its  place  of  honour.  Over  and 
around  it,  reaching  almost  across  the  stage, 
was  draped  a  great  silken  flag,  borrowed  for 
the  occasion. 

Peter  Dowling,  in  his  old  blue  army  clothes, 
with  one  sleeve  pinned  across  his  breast,  sat 
far  back,  looking  bewildered  by  the  wonders 
the  little  teacher  had  accomplished. 

Miss  Atworth  had  arranged  the  programme 
with  great  tact.  Each  child  felt  prominent,  and 
those  who,  she  secretly  knew,  would  be  failures 
in  anything  else,  were  honoured  beyond  meas- 
ure when  she  skilfully  grouped  them  into  a 
series  of  effective  historical  tableaux. 


IO4   WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  AT  HARDYVILLE 

"  It's  enough  to  make  even  a  graven  image 
feel  patriotic,"  whispered  Squire  Hardy  to  his 
wife,  as  the  children's  sweet  voices  made  the 
room  ring  with  the  grand  old  national  airs. 

Declamations  followed  each  other  in  rapid 
succession.  Then  came  a  scene,  with  recita- 
tions, in  which  Uncle  Sam  and  all  the  States 
of  the  Union  took  part.  The  very  air  seemed 
charged  with  the  little  teacher's  electrical  spirit 
of  patriotic  enthusiasm. 

It  was  at  its  height  when  Karl  came  for- 
ward to  give  the  famous  speech  of  Patrick 
Henry.  His  delivery  was  so  much  better  than 
the  rehearsals  had  led  her  to  expect  that  even 
Miss  Atworth  was  surprised.  He  seemed  to 
find  an  inspiration  in  the  crowd.  A  storm  of 
applause  followed  the  "  Give  me  liberty  or  give 
me  death." 

"  What  shall  we  do?  "  she  whispered  in  dis- 
may as  the  persistent  clapping  of  many  hands 
called  him  back.  "  I  wish  you  had  prepared 
for  an  encore." 

"  Oh,  I  know !  "  said  Karl,  and  in  another 
instant  was  on  the  stage  again. 

In  the  deep  hush  that  followed,  his  clear, 
musical  voice  rose  in  German.  He  was  recit- 


WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  AT  HARDYVILLE    105 

ing  "  Mein  Vaterland."  Old  grandmothers 
who  knew  but  a  few  words  of  English  rocked 
themselves  back  and  forth  in  excited  delight; 
Mr.  Schmidt  beamed  with  vast  smiles;  many 
an  eye  grew  dim,  thinking  of  the  old  beloved 
home  across  the  seas.  But  the  boy  was  think- 
ing of  his  own  native  country.  There  was 
no  mistaking  his  meaning,  as  he  turned  in 
closing,  to  wave  his  hand  toward  the  portrait 
and  the  flag: 

"  My  Fatherland !  "  he  cried  with  true  feel- 
ing, and  then,  after  a  moment  of  general  sur- 
prise, deafening  applause  broke  out. 

As  it  subsided  Miss  Atworth  stepped  forward 
to  announce  the  last  song,  but  Peter  Dowling, 
his  face  aflame  with  new  delight  and  old  mem- 
ories, rose,  stalked  up  the  aisle  as  if  uncon- 
scious of  all  the  eyes  fixed  on  him,  and  swung 
himself  up  on  the  high  platform  with  one  long 
step. 

"  Friends,"  he  began,  "  I've  been  livin'  kind 
of  dead  among  ye  for  many's  the  year.  Now 
I  want  to  say  a  word  or  two.  I  ain't  no  great 
at  speechifyin',  but  these  old  songs  and  pieces 
we've  been  a-listenin'  to  have  spirited  me  up 
like  the  trumpet  doos  an  old  war-horse." 


io6    WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  AT  HARDYVILLE 

As  he  spoke  he  waved  the  stump  of  his  right 
arm  so  vigorously  that  the  empty  sleeve  was 
torn  from  its  pinning  across  his  breast  and 
flapped  pathetically. 

"  I  want  to  say,"  he  went  on,  "  that  I  fit  for 
that  old  flag,  and  yet,  livin'  here  so  long,  and 
never  a  celebration  for  young  or  old,  I'd  half 
forgot  my  patriotism.  It's  our  school-teacher 
has  woke  me  up  to  seeing  the  truth.  Now  that 
we  hev  beat  our  swords  into  pruning-hooks, 
and  peace  has  pitched  her  tent  alongside  ours 
to  stay,  I  can't  help  thinking  there's  danger  in 
settlin'  down  too  comfortable  and  off  gyard 
like. 

"  This  country,"  he  raised  his  voice  higher, 
"  ain't  teaching  its  children  enough  of  the 
feelin'  of  patriotism.  It  takes  the  same  kind 
of  principle  to  make  a  good  citizen  that  it  doos 
a  good  soldier.  It  ought  to  be  the  very  bone 
and  sinew  of  every  school  in  this  whole  land. 
I  could  talk  all  night  on  that  subject,  now  I've 
got  started.  But  what  I  want  to  say  is  this : 

"  I  propose  that  we  all  get  out  our  pocket- 
books,  and  throw  in  to  get  a  handsome  flag  to 
fly  over  this  schoolhouse.  Take  an  old  soldier's 
word  for  it,  there  ain't  no  greater  inspiration 


WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  AT  HARDYVILLE    107 

anywhere,  to  make  a  fellow  put  in  his  best 
licks,  and  come  out  on  top.  Now,  Miss 
Teacher,  I'll  just  get  the  sense  of  this  meeting." 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  turned  to  the 
audience :  "  All  who  want  to  express  their 
thanks  for  this  evening's  entertainment,  and 
are  willing  a  collection  should  be  took,  say 
aye!  " 

Such  a  storm  of  ayes  followed,  that  Peter 
caught  up  his  slouched  hat  and  began  to  pass 
it  around,  with  his  only  arm.  Dimes  and  quar- 
ters clinked  into  it,  while  an  occasional  dollar 
showed  how  deeply  selfish  hearts  had  been 
stirred  by  the  uplifting  influences  of  the 
hour. 

Miss  Atworth  seated  herself  at  the  piano, 
and  beckoned  to  the  bewildered  Goddess  of 
Liberty  to  lead  the  States  again  across  the  stage. 
Some  of  the  smaller  ones  straggled  sadly  out 
of  line,  but  as  Karl,  at  a  nod  from  his  teacher, 
caught  the  great  flag  from  its  place  and  stood 
with  it  in  the  midst  of  them,  every  voice  rang 
out  full  and  true  on  the  chorus : 

"  Yes,  we'll  rally  round  the  flag,  boys, 
We'll  rally  once  again, 
Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  freedom  !  " 


io8    WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  AT  HARDVVILLE 

People  seemed  loath  to  go  when  it  was  all 
over.  They  came  up  to  the  teacher  with  awk- 
ward expressions  of  pleasure  and  appreciation. 

"  I'll  never  forget  this  night,"  drawled  one 
faded,  overworked  woman,  to  whose  eyes  the 
rich  colours  and  tinsel  of  the  stage  decorations 
had  seemed  a  part  of  fairyland.  "  That  music 
was  so  sweet,  and  my  little  Meta  looked  like 
a  picture  with  her  hair  curled,  and  that  beauti- 
ful dress  on  you  made  her.  I  really  didn't 
know  she  was  so  pretty.  I'm  going  to  fix  her 
up  and  get  her  a  lot  of  nice  things  after  this." 

"  Well,  it  was  worth  while,"  said  the  little 
teacher,  as  she  dropped  into  a  chair  at  home, 
too  tired  to  take  off  her  wraps. 

"  Indeed  it  was,"  answered  the  squire.  "  Jake 
Schneider's  new  patriotism  rose  so  he  said  he'd 
put  a  walk  on  each  side  of  the  school  for  half 
a  mile,  even  if  nobody'd  help  him.  Then  a  lot 
of  'em  began  to  talk  it  over.  The  upshot  was 
that  old  Schmidt  is  going  to  give  the  logs,  and 
they're  all  going  to  work  to-morrow  to  hew 
them  off  and  stake  them  down." 

The  next  Monday  morning  Karl  stopped  at 
Miss  Atworth's  desk  to  say  joyfully,  "  O 
teacher!  father  was  so  pleased.  He  is  going 


WASHINGTON  S    BIRTHDAY    AT    HARDYVILLE      ICX) 

to  hire  another  hand  and  let  me  keep  on  till  the 
end  of  the  term." 

"  Then  I  need  never  regret  my  sacrifice," 
thought  the  happy  girl. 

That  celebration  was  the  beginning  of  better 
times  in  Hardyville.  When  the  doors  were 
barred  for  vacation,  and  the  grass  grew  rank 
on  the  bare  playground,  the  new  flag  still 
floated  from  the  schoolhouse  belfry. 

Many  a  boy  catching  sight  of  the  glorious 
flag  as  he  plodded  through  the  furrows  behind 
his  plough,  felt  himself  lifted  beyond  the 
bounds  of  his  little  horizon,  to  some  great  plane 
of  endeavour  where  all  great  things  were  possi- 
ble. Still  those  beckoning  folds  teach  a  silent 
lesson  of  loftier  ideals,  and  a  broader  humanity 
to  people  whom  the  little  teacher  thrilled  with 
her  enthusiastic  spirit. 


AN   OLD   DAGUERREOTYPE 


AN   OLD 
DAGUERREOTYPE 


CALEB  SPEED  pushed  back  his  chair  from  the 
dinner-table  with  anger  and -disgust  in  his  face. 
The  door  had  just  banged  behind  a  big,  hearty 
boy  of  seventeen,  whom  he  could  still  see 
through  the  narrow  window  trudging  off 
toward  the  barn. 

The  lively  whistle  that  sounded  through  the 
closed  windows  seemed  to  aggravate  the  man's 
ill-temper.  He  walked  over  to  the  fireplace, 
and  kicked  the  smouldering  logs  with  his  heavy 
boot. 

"  If  there's  any  one  thing  that  riles  me  all 
over,"  he  exclaimed,  angrily,  "  it's  having  that 
boy  always   setting  himself  up  to  be  in   the 
right,  and  everybody  else  in  the  wrong !  " 
"3 


114  AN    OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE 

"  Well,  he  'most  generally  is  in  the  right," 
answered  Caleb's  wife,  clearing  the  table.  "  It's 
remarkable  what  a  memory  Jerry  has,  'specially 
for  dates.  At  the  quilting  here  last  week  the 
women  folks  were  trying  to  settle  when  'twas 
old  Mis'  Lockett  died,  and  Jerry  knew  to  the 
day.  He  said  'twas  two  days  after  Deacon 
Stone's  cows  were  killed  by  lightning,  and  that 
happened  on  the  thirteenth  of  September,  just 
a  hundred  years  to  the  very  day  after  Wolfe 
captured  Quebec.  You  can't  trip  Jerry  up  in 
history." 

"  Well,"  answered  her  husband,  impatiently, 
"  he  needn't  be  so  sassy  about  it.  We  had  a 
dispute  over  them  same  cows.  I  was  telling 
the  new  minister  about  the  storm,  and  I  hap- 
pened to  say  they  was  standing  under  a  pine- 
tree.  He  chipped  in,  '  Why,  no,  it  wasn't, 
uncle;  it  was  an  oak.'  '  It  was  a  pine! '  says 
I.  '  No,  it  wasn't;  it  was  an  oak,'  says  he. 

"  Just  then  Hiram  Stone  came  by,  and  Jerry 
yelled  to  know  which  'twas.  Hiram  said, 
'  Oak.'  Then  Jerry  grinned  as  malicious,  and 
said,  '  I  told  you  so !  I  knew  I  was  right ! ' 
If  he  hadn't  been  my  dead  sister's  only  child 


AN    OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE  115 

and  the  minister  looking  on  —  Caleb  stopped 
in  anger. 

Mrs.  Speed  made  no  comment.  She  was 
fond  of  her  husband's  nephew.  He  had  grown 
to  be  almost  like  a  son  in  the  five  years  he  had 
lived  with  them.  They  were  not  old  —  not 
many  years  older  than  Jerry ;  for  Caleb's  sister 
had  been  older  than  he. 

Mrs.  Speed  only  laughed  at  the  patronizing 
manners  which  he  sometimes  assumed,  to  the 
great  annoyance  of  his  young  uncle.  But  Caleb 
Speed  was  too  dogmatic  himself  to  tolerate 
such  a  spirit  in  any  one  else. 

"  He  sha'n't  sit  up  and  contradict  me  at  my 
own  table!  "  Caleb  declared.  "  I'll  thrash  him 
first!  He's  got  to  show  me  proper  respect. 
He  needn't  think  because  I've  given  him  ad- 
vantages that  I  couldn't  have  myself,  that  he 
knows  it  all,  and  I  don't  know  anything!  " 

"  Now,  Caleb,  what's  the  use?  It's  only 
Jerry's  way,"  said  Mrs.  Speed,  soothingly. 

"Dear  me!"  she  sighed,  as  Caleb  went  to 
his  work.  "  It's  a  pity  they  can't  get  along  as 
they  used  to.  Caleb's  so  touchy  he  can't  stand 
anything.  I  must  tell  Jerry  to  be  more  care- 
ful." 


I l6  AN    OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE 

But  when  Jerry  came  in  to  supper  and  began 
his  lively  joking,  she  forgot  the  little  lecture 
she  had  planned. 

"  The  Spencers  are  going  to  move  West  next 
week,"  remarked  Mr.  Speed.  "  Land's  cheap, 
and  I  guess  they  need  more  elbow-room  for 
such  a  big  family.  Greenville  is  a  mighty 
thriving  place,  they  say." 

"  You  mean  Grandville,  don't  you,  uncle?" 
suggested  Jerry. 

"  I  generally  say  what  I  mean,  young  man !  " 
was  the  curt  reply. 

"Well,  it's  Grandville,  anyway!"  persisted 
Jerry,  feeling  in  his  pockets.  "  Jack  Spencer  is 
out  there  now.  I  got  a  letter  from  him  yester- 
day begging  me  to  go  out  there  to  him.  Oh, 
here  it  is !  Look  at  the  postmark.  It  is  Grand- 
ville! I  knew  I  was  right  about  it." 

Nettled  by  the  tone  and  his  own  mistake, 
Mr.  Speed  finished  his  supper  in  moody  silence. 
The  boy  had  no  idea  how  his  habit  had  grown, 
or  how  sensitive  his  uncle  had  become  in  regard 
to  it.  "  Why,  Aunt  Lucy,"  he  insisted,  when 
she  remonstrated  with  him,  "  I  never  contra- 
dict people  unless  I  know  positively  that  they 
are  wrong ! " 


AN    OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE  II / 

"  Maybe,"  she  answered.  "  But  what  real 
difference  does  it  make  whether  the  weasels 
killed  five  chickens  or  six,  or  that  it  was  the 
black  pig  and  not  the  spotted  one  that  rooted 
up  the  garden?  Those  are  such  little  things 
to  bicker  about,  just  for  the  satisfaction  of 
saying,  '  I  told  you  so ! ' 

She  imitated  Jerry's  tone  and  manner  so  well 
that  he  laughed  a  little  sheepishly. 

"  Well,  I'll  turn  over  a  new  leaf,"  he  prom- 
ised, "  just  to  please  you." 

Caleb  Speed's  farm  was  in  southern  Maine, 
near  the  coast.  Jerry  had  grown  up  with  the 
sound  of  the  sea  in  his  ears.  It  had  long  sung 
only  a  meaningless  monotone  to  the  boy,  but  it 
had  begun  to  fill  him  with  something  of  its 
own  restless  spirit.  And  about  this  time  the 
Spencer  boys  were  urging  him  to  go  West. 

"  No,"  he  answered ;  "  I  owe  it  to  Uncle 
Caleb  to  stay  here.  He  was  too  good  to  me 
when  I  was  a  little  shaver  for  me  to  leave  him 
now  when  he  needs  me.  He  shall  have  the 
best  service  I  can  give  him  until  I  am  twenty- 
one;  then  I'll  be  free  to  follow  you." 

But  there  came  a  crisis.  Uncle  Caleb  gave 
Jerry  a  sum  of  money  to  pay  a  bill  in  town. 


I  I  8  AN    OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE 

There  was  a  five-dollar  piece  in  a  roll  of  bills, 
and  the  gold-piece  had  disappeared. 

Jerry  insisted  that  he  could  not  have  had 
the  money.  "  I  know,  Aunt  Lucy.  Uncle 
Cale  handed  me  the  roll  of  bills^  and  I  put  it 
clown  in  this  pocket,  and  never  touched  it  till 
I  got  to  town.  When  I  took  it  out  there  were 
the  bills  just  as  he  had  handed  them  to  me, 
and  not  a  thing  more." 

"  Maybe  there's  a  hole  in  your  pocket,"  she 
suggested. 

She  turned  it  wrong  side  out,  but  found  no 
place  where  a  coin  could  have  slipped  through. 

"  Well,  it's  a  mystery  where  it  went,"  she 
said.  "  I  can't  understand  it." 

"  Pooh !  It's  no  mystery,"  answered  Jerry, 
contemptuously.  "  Uncle  simply  didn't  give 
it  to  me.  He  thought  he  had  rolled  it  up  in 
the  bills,  but  was  mistaken.  That's  all !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  cried  Caleb, 
jumping  up  white  with  anger.  "  I  tell  you  it 
was  wrapped  up  in  the  bills,  and  if  you  can't 
account  for  it,  you've  either  lost  it  or  spent  it !  " 

Jerry  bounded  up-stairs  to  his  room,  stuffed 
his  best  suit  of  clothes  into  a  little  brown  carpet- 
bag, and  then  poured  out  the  contents  of  an  old, 


AN    OLD   DAGUERREOTYPE  I 19 

long-necked  blue  vase.  He  had  thirty  dollars 
saved  toward  buying  a  horse  of  his  own.  Then 
he  marched  defiantly  down-stairs  to  his  uncle. 

"  I  never  saw  or  touched  your  gold-piece,"  he 
declared,  "  but  I'll  not  go  away  leaving  you  to 
say  that  I  took  any  of  your  money !  " 

He  threw  down  a  five-dollar  bill  and  started 
to  the  door.  As  he  turned  the  knob,  he  looked 
back  at  the  woman  by  the  fireplace,  with  her 
face  in  her  apron. 

"  Good-bye,  Aunt  Lucy,"  he  said,  with  a 
choke  in  his  voice.  "  You've  been  awful  good 
to  me  —  I'll  never  forget  that !  " 

Then  he  shut  the  door  abruptly,  and  went 
out  into  the  night.  It  lacked  only  five  minutes 
of  train-time  when  he  reached  the  station,  de- 
termined to  go  to  a  cousin  of  his  father's  who 
lived  in  Vermont,  and  write  from  there  to  Jack 
Spencer  that  he  would  work  his  way  out  West 
as  soon  as  he  could. 

Tingling  with  the  recollection  of  his  uncle's 
reproaches,  the  boy  sat  up  very  straight  and 
wide-awake  in  the  train  for  a  long  time.  Then 
his  tension  relaxed,  and  for  lack  of  something 
else  to  do,  he  felt  in  his  pocket  for  Jack  Spen- 
cer's letter.  As  he  pulled  it  from  its  envelope 


I2O  AN    OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE 

something  else  fell  into  his  hand.  It  was  a 
gold-piece. 

He  could  scarcely  believe  his  eyes  as  he  sat 
dropping  it  from  one  hand  into  another.  How 
had  the  coin  got  into  the  letter.  For  a  time  he 
could  not  guess;  then  the  truth  suddenly  be- 
came clear  to  him. 

The  letter  had  been  in  his  breast-pocket  when 
he  stuffed  the  roll  of  bills  into  it,  and  the  coin 
must  have  slipped  into  the  open  end  of  the 
envelope  as  he  pushed  the  bills  down.  When 
he  began  to  search  for  the  money  he  had 
changed  the  letter  to  another  pocket,  never 
dreaming  that  it  contained  anything  except 
Jack's  glowing  description  of  prairie-life. 

Jerry  had  been  keeping  his  anger  warm  all 
the  way  by  telling  himself  that  his  uncle  had 
been  harsh  and  unjust.  He  had  even  pictured 
to  himself  with  grim  satisfaction  how  shame- 
faced Caleb  would  look  sometime  when  he 
should  come  across  the  coin  among  his  own 
possessions.  And  now  he  had  to  think  of  him- 
self as  the  blunderer  and  the  unjust,  foolish 
person. 

But  now  no  apology  could  be  too  humble. 
He  would  get  off  at  the  next  station  and  take 


AN    OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE  121 

the  first  train  home.     The  case  called  for  an 
immediate  reconciliation. 

Then  he  reasoned  that  as  he  had  paid  for 
his  ticket,  he  might  as  well  go  on  to  his  jour- 
ney's end  and  have  a  short  visit.  It  would  be 
easier,  perhaps,  to  write  than  to  speak  his  apol- 
ogy- 
Jerry  soon  found  his  elderly  cousin,  Tim 
Bailey,  who  happened  to  be  working  just  then 
in  a  new  store  —  a  combination  of  a  book- 
store and  an  old-fashioned  daguerreotype  gal- 
lery; not  old-fashioned  then,  for  it  was  before 
the  photograph  had  penetrated  to  the  rural 
regions.  Tim's  rigorous  cross-questioning  soon 
drew  the  whole  story  from  the  boy. 

"Well,  that's  easily  settled,"  said  Tim. 
"  Just  you  write  to  'em  and  own  up,  and  say 
you're  going  to  stop  with  me  over  Christmas, 
but  that  you'll  be  along  about  New  Year  to  turn 
over  a  new  leaf.  They'll  bring  out  the  fatted 
calf  when  you  get  back.  I  know  Caleb  like 
a  book.  He  can't  hold  spite." 

Jerry  settled  himself  to  write  the  letter.  But 
he  found  himself  hard  to  please,  and  tore  up 
several  drafts.  Writing  apologies  was  not  such 


122  AN   OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE 

easy  work,  after  all !  Then  Tim  put  his  grizzled 
head  in  at  the  door,  with  a  beaming  smile. 

"Look  here,  boy,  I've  got  an  idee!  The 
picture  business  is  dull  this  morning.  Go  up 
and  get  yours  took.  You  can  send  it  along 
for  a  Christmas  gift.  Sha'n't  cost  you  a  cent, 
either.  I  get  all  my  work  done  gratis,  for  send- 
ing him  so  much  trade." 

Three  days  after,  Jerry  dropped  into  the 
post-office  a  little  package  addressed  to  his 
uncle,  containing,  besides  a  letter,  an  excellent 
likeness  of  himself.  Jerry  made  in  the  letter 
a  straightforward  acknowledgment  of 'his  mis- 
take, and  accompanied  this  manly  apology  with 
an  earnest  request  to  be  allowed  to  return  home. 

He  had  grown  so  homesick  for  a  sight  of 
the  old  place  that  he  could  scarcely  see  the  lines 
on  his  paper.  And  Aunt  Lucy  —  well,  he  al- 
most broke  down  at  the  thought  of  all  her 
motherly  kindness  to  him. 

"  Now  I'll  surely  get  an  answer  by  Wednes- 
day," he  thought,  but  Wednesday  went  by,  and 
another  week  passed,  and  although  he  called 
regularly  at  the  post-office,  no  word  came. 

"  Well,  I've  done  all  I  could,"  he  said.  "  It's 
plain  they  don't  want  me  back." 


AN    OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE  123 

Tim's  sympathetic  old  heart  ached  for  the 
boy's  distress.  He  even  offered  to  go  up  to  the 
farm  and  intercede  in  his  behalf. 

"  No  indeed !  "  Jerry  answered,  defiantly. 
"  I'll  never  beg  my  way  back.  I'm  not  the 
kind  to  go  where  I'm  not  wanted." 

"  Maybe  they  never  got  your  letter." 

Jerry  hooted  at  the  idea.  "  No,  they  don't 
want  to  make  up.  That's  the  long  and  the  short 
of  it." 

When  he  finally  started  West,  Tim  Bailey 
went  with  him.  Out  on  the  far  Western 
prairies,  Jerry  struck  deep  root  in  the  favour- 
able soil,  and  as  the  years  passed  on,  became 
as  much  of  a  fixture  as  the  new  town  that 
bore  his  name.  Year  after  year  he  worked 
on,  widening  his  fields,  improving  his  build- 
ings, working  early  and  late,  solely  for  the 
pleasure  of  accumulating. 

Tim  Bailey  had  grown  old  and  rheumatic, 
almost  childish,  but  he  still  assumed  a  sort  of 
guardianship  over  Jerry.  One  day  he  put  down 
his  newspaper,  wiped  his  spectacles,  and 
scanned  the  rough,  burly-looking  man  on  the 
other  side  of  the  stove,  as  if  he  had  been  a 
stranger. 


124  AN    OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE 

"Look  here,  Jerry/'  he  said  presently, 
"  you're  getting  to  look  old,  and  your  hair's  all 
a-turning  gray.  Now  you've  got  to  quit  peg- 
ging away  so  hard  and  take  a  holiday,  before 
you  get  like  me,  so  stiff  and  rheumatic  you 
can't  get  away.  Why  don't  you  go  to  the 
World's  Fair  ?  It  1ud  be  a  burning  shame  for 
the  richest  man  in  Trigg  County  to  miss  such 
a  show." 

Thus  it  came  about  that  one  day  Jerry 
rubbed  his  eyes  in  a  bewildered  way  to  find 
himself  in  the  midst  of  a  surging  crowd  that 
thronged  the  entrances  of  the  Fair. 

He  plodded  along  the  Midway  Plaisance,  his 
umbrella  under  his  arm  and  his  hands  in  his 
pockets;  he  walked  and  stared  till  late  in  the 
afternoon.  It  was  late  in  May,  the  spring 
ploughing  had  been  a  good  preparation  in  pe- 
destrianism,  but  the  long  furrows,  enlivened 
only  by  the  pipe  of  a  quail  or  the  cry  of  a  cat- 
bird, had  never  brought  such  weariness  as 
Jerry  felt  now. 

He  did  not  realize  he  was  so  tired  until  he 
dropped  into  a  seat  in  one  of  the  gondolas  on 
the  lagoon,  and  remarked  confidentially  to  the 
gondolier  that  he  was  "  clean  beat  out." 


AN    OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE  12$ 

It  was  the  first  time  Jerry  had  spoken  since 
he  entered  the  grounds.  The  man  made  no 
reply. 

He  studied  the  fellow  keenly  a  moment,  and 
then  turned  to  the  .crowds,  surging  along  the 
banks  in  every  direction.  Not  a  soul  in  all 
that  multitude  even  knew  his  name. 

A  feeling  of  utter  loneliness  crept  over  him, 
and  when  the  boat  landed  he  was  saying  to 
himself  that  he  would  give  the  finest  colt  in  his 
pastures  for  the  sight  of  a  familiar  face. 

A  few  steps  farther,  and  he  saw  one.  It  was 
in  the  government  building,  where  an  amused 
crowd  was  exclaiming  over  the  Dead  Letter 
Exhibit.  Jerry  edged  along  in  front  of  the 
case,  wondering  at  the  variety  of  shipwrecked 
cargoes  that  had  drifted  into  this  government 
haven. 

A  vague  pity  stirred  in  him  for  all  the  hopes 
that  had  gone  into  the  grave  of  the  dead  letter 
office  —  rings  that  had  never  found  the  fingers 
they  were  to  have  clasped,  gifts  that  might  have 
unlocked  long  silences,  tokens  of  friendship 
that  were  never  received,  never  acknowledged 
—  all  caught  in  this  snarled  web  that  no  human 
skill  could  possibly  unravel. 


126  AN    OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE 

Then  he  saw  the  familiar  face.  It  smiled  out 
at  him  from  the  case  of  an  old  daguerreotype, 
till  his  heart  began  to  beat  so  hard  that  he 
glanced  guiltily  around,  to  see  if  any  one  else 
heard  it.  The  blood  rushed  to  his  head,  and 
he  felt  dizzy. 

It  was  that  picture  of  himself,  taken  so  long 
ago  up  in  Vermont!  He  was  not  likely  to  be 
mistaken  in  it  —  the  only  picture  he  had  ever 
had  taken  in  his  life. 

He  chuckled  as  he  recalled  the  anxious 
oiling  he  had  given  the  curly  hair  to  make  it 
lie  flat,  the  harrowing  hesitation  over  his  neck- 
tie, the  borrowing  of  the  watch-chain  that  stood 
out  in  such  bold  relief  against  his  brocaded  vest. 
How  quaint  and  old-fashioned  it  looked! 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  grizzled  beard 
with  a  sigh,  for  the  smooth,  boyish  face  was  not 
all  he  saw.  It  brought  back  the  whole  faded 
past  so  overwhelmingly  that  for  awhile  he  for- 
got where  he  was. 

Thirty-three  years  since  he  had  dropped  that 
little  package  in  the  office !  He  did  not  question 
why  the  letter  had  gone  astray.  He  had  lost 
his  boyish  faith  in  his  own  infallibility.  He 


AN    OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE  127 

had  probably  mailed  it  with  only  half  the  ad- 
dress, perhaps  none. 

Now  he  was  a  boy  again,  back  in  Maine. 
Aunt  Lucy's  knitting-needles  clicked  in  the 
firelight.  Uncle  Caleb  was  making  him  a  sled. 
How  warm  and  comfortable  the  kitchen  felt, 
and  how  good  Aunt  Lucy's  doughnuts  tasted! 

The  crowds  jostled  him.  He  stood  as  if 
grown  to  the  spot,  until  a  sharp-nosed  woman 
elbowed  her  way  in  front  of  him,  to  see  what 
interested  him.  She  looked  inquisitively  from 
the  picture  to  the  weather-beaten  face  above 
her,  and  passed  on,  none  the  wiser.  There 
was  little  likeness  between  the  two. 

Her  penetrating  glances  aroused  him.  He 
came  to  himself  with  a  start,  looked  hastily 
around,  and  then  set  out  from  the  building, 
heedless  of  direction.  A  keen,  raw  wind  struck 
him  as  he  strode  along  the  lake  shore.  He 
shivered  and  turned  up  his  coat  collar. 

A  drizzling  mist  ojf  rain  began  to  fall.  People 
going  by  with  their  umbrellas  up  looked  at 
him  curiously  as  he  plodded  along  with  his 
own  umbrella  under  his  arm. 

Soon  a  heavy  dash  of  rain  aroused  him  to  the 
necessity  of  finding  immediate  shelter.  A  group 


128  AN    OLD     DAGUERREOTYPE 

of  State  buildings  was  just  ahead.  Glancing 
up  he  saw  the  name  of  his  native  State  on  one, 
and  hurried  in. 

A  great  log  heap  blazed  and  crackled  in  the 
huge  fireplace,  filling  the  room  with  a  glowing 
comfort  that  warmed  him,  soul  and  body.  He 
drew  a  chair  close  up  to  it,  and  spread  his 
chilly  fingers  to  the  flames. 

The  sticks  against  the  forelog  burnt  to  em- 
bers and  fell  into  the  ashes.  The  crane  seemed 
to  swing  backward  like  a  great  finger,  pointing 
to  the  past,  as  he  sat  and  stared  into  the  fire. 

People  passing  through  the  room  saw  only 
a  rough  old  farmer,  his  clumsy  boots  stretched 
out  on  the  hearth.  They  never  dreamed  of  the 
scenes  that  passed  before  him  in  the  fire.  There 
were  glimpses  of  snow-covered  pine  woods,  of 
sparkling  trout-streams  gurgling  in  the  June 
sunshine,  of  long  stretches  of  level  sea-sands 
where  the  tide  crawled  in. 

The  old  homesickness  waked  again.  What 
had  they  thought  of  him  through  all  these  silent 
years?  He  wondered  how  they  would  receive 
his  long-delayed  apology.  He  must  write  as 
soon  as  he  got  back  to  the  hotel. 

The  rain  had  stopped.     He  stood  up  and 


AN    OLD    DAGUERREOTYPE  129 

shook  himself,  then  went  out-doors  again,  pull- 
ing his  beard  meditatively,  as  he  walked  toward 
the  gate.  It  seemed  a  week  since  he  had  entered 
it. 

Outside,  while  he  waited  for  a  car,  he  kept 
poking  the  end  of  his  umbrella  savagely  into 
a  crack  in  the  pavement.  As  he  swung  himself 
to  the  platform  of  a  passing  car,  he  turned  back 
for  another  look  at  the  domes  and  towers  inside 
the  gates. 

It  was  his  last  look.  He  had  seen  enough. 
He  was  going  back  to  Uncle  Caleb  and  Aunt 
Lucy. 


THE   END. 


COSY  CORNER  SERIES 

It  is  the  intention  of  the  publishers  that  this  series  shall 
contain  only  the  very  highest  and  purest  literature,  — 
stories  that  shall  not  only  appeal  to  the  children  them- 
selves, but  be  appreciated  by  all  those  who  feel  with 
them  in  their  joys  and  sorrows,  —  stories  that  shall  be 
most  particularly  adapted  for  reading  aloud  in  the 
family  circle. 

The  numerous  illustrations  in  each  book  are  by  well- 
known  artists,  and  each  volume  has  a  separate  attract- 
ive cover  design. 

Each,  I  vol.,  l6mo,  cloth $0.50 

By   ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON 

The  Little  Colonel. 

The  scene  of  this  story  is  laid  in  Kentucky.  Its 
heroine  is  a  small  girl,  who  is  known  as  the  Little 
Colonel,  on  account  of  her  fancied  resemblance  to  an 
old-school  Southern  gentleman,  whose  fine  estate  and 
old  family  are  famous  in  the  region.  This  old  Colonel 
proves  to  be  the  grandfather  of  the  child. 

The  Giant  Scissors. 

This  is  the  story  of  Joyce  and  of  her  adventures  in 
France,  —  the  wonderful  house  with  the  gate  of  The 
Giant  Scissors,  Jules,  her  little  playmate,  Sister  Denisa, 
the  cruel  Brossard,  and  her  dear  Aunt  Kate.  Joyce  is 
a  great  friend  of  the  Little  Colonel,  and  in  later  volumes 
shares  with  her  the  delightful  experiences  of  the  "  House 
Party  "  and  the  "  Holidays." 


L.    C.  PAGE   AND    COMPANY'S 


By  ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON  (Continued) 

Two  Little  Knights  of  Kentucky, 

WHO  WERE  THE  LITTLE  COLONEL'S  NEIGHBORS. 
In  this  volume  the  Little  Colonel  returns  to  us  like  an 
old  friend,  but  with   added  grace  and  charm.     She  is 
not,  however,  the  central  figure  of  the  story,  that  place 
being  taken  by  the  "  two  little  knights." 

Cicely  and  Other  Stories  for  Girls. 

The  readers  of  Mrs.  Johnston's  charming  juveniles 
will  be  glad  to  learn  of  the  issue  of  this  volume  for 
young  people,  written  in  the  author's  sympathetic  and 
entertaining  manner. 

Aunt  'Liza's  Hero  and  Other  Stories. 

A  collection  of  six  bright  little  stories,  which  will 
appeal  to  all  boys  and  most  girls. 

Big  Brother. 

A  story  of  two  boys.  The  devotion  and  care  of 
Steven,  himself  a  small  boy,  for  his  baby  brother,  is  the 
theme  of  the  simple  tale,  the  pathos  and  beauty  of  which 
has  appealed  to  so  many  thousands. 

Ole  flammy's  Torment. 

"  Ole  Mammy's  Torment "  has  been  fitly  called  "  a 
classic  of  Southern  life."  It  relates  the  haps  and  mis- 
haps of  a  small  negro  lad,  and  tells  how  he  was  led  by 
love  and  kindness  to  a  knowledge  of  the  right. 

The  Story  of  Dago. 

In  this  story  Mrs.  Johnston  relates  the  story  of  Dago, 
a  pet  monkey,  owned  jointly  by  two  brothers.  Dago 
tells  his  own  story,  and  the  account  of  his  haps  and  mis- 
haps is  both  interesting  and  amusing. 


CORNER   SERIES 


By  EDITH  ROBINSON 

A  Little  Puritan's  First  Christmas. 

A  story  of  Colonial  times  in  Boston,  telling  how 
Christmas  was  invented  by  Betty  Sewall,  a  typical  child 
of  the  Puritans,  aided  by  her  brother  Sam. 

A  Little  Daughter  of  Liberty. 

The  author's  motive  for  this  story  is  well  indicated  by 
a  quotation  from  her  introduction,  as  follows  : 

"  One  ride  is  memorable  in  the  early  history  of  the 
American  Revolution,  the  well-known  ride  of  Paul 
Revere.  Equally  deserving  of  commendation  is  another 
ride,  —  untold  in  verse  or  story,  its  records  preserved 
only  in  family  papers  or  shadowy  legend,  the  ride  of 
Anthony  Severn  was  no  less  historic  in  its  action  or 
memorable  in  its  consequences." 

A  Loyal  Little  flaid. 

A  delightful  and  interesting  story  of  Revolutionary 
days,  in  which  the  child  heroine,  Betsey  Schuyler, 
renders  important  services  to  George  Washington. 

A  Little  Puritan  Rebel. 

Like  Miss  Robinson's  successful  story  of  "  A  Loyal 
Little  Maid,"  this  is  another  historical  tale  of  a  real  girl, 
during  the  time  when  the  gallant  Sir  Harry  Vane  was 
governor  of  Massachusetts. 

A  Little  Puritan  Pioneer. 

The  scene  of  this  story  is  laid  in  the  Puritan  settle 
ment  at  Charlestown.  The  little  girl  heroine  adds 
another  to  the  list  of  favorites  so  well  known  to  the 
young  people. 

A  Little  Puritan  Bound  Girl. 

A  story  of  Boston  in  Puritan  days,  which  is  of  great 
interest  to  youthful  readers. 


4  L.    C.   PAGE   AND   COMPANY'S 

By   QUID 'A    (Louise  de  la  Ramte) 

A  Dog  Of  Flanders  :   A  CHRISTMAS  STORY. 
Too  well  and  favorably  known  to  require  description. 

The  Nurnberg  Stove. 

This  beautiful  story  has  never  before  been  published 
at  a  popular  price. 

A  Provence  Rose. 

A  story  perfect  in  sweetness  and  in  grace. 

Findelkind. 

A  charming  story  about  a  little  Swiss  herdsman. 
By  MISS  MULOCK 

The  Little  Lame  Prince. 

A  delightful  story  of  a  little  boy  who  has  many  adven- 
tures by  means  of  the  magic  gifts  of  his  fairy  godmother. 

Adventures  of  a  Brownie. 

The  story  of  a  household  elf  who  torments  the  cook 
and  gardener,  but  is  a  constant  joy  and  delight  to  the 
children  who  love  and  trust  him. 

His  Little  Mother. 

Miss  Mulock's  short  stories  for  children  are  a  constant 
source  of  delight  to  them,  and  "  His  Little  Mother,"  in 
this  new  and  attractive  dress,  will  be  welcomed  by  hosts 
of  youthful  readers. 

Little  Sunshine's  Holiday. 

An  attractive  story  of  a  summer  outing.  "  Little  Sun- 
shine" is  another  of  those  beautiful  child-characters  for 
which  Miss  Mulock  is  so  justly  famous. 


COSY  CORNER  SERIES 


By  JULIANA    HO  R  ATI  A    EWING 

Jackanapes. 

A  new  edition,  with  new  illustrations,  of  this  exquisite 
and  touching  story,  dear  alike  to  young  and  old. 

Story  of  a  Short  Life. 

This  beautiful  and  pathetic  story  will  never  grow  old. 
It  is  a  part  of  the  world's  literature,  and  will  never  die. 

A  Great  Emergency. 

How  a  family  of  children  prepared  for  a  great  emer- 
gency, and  how  they  acted  when  the  emergency  came. 

The  Trinity  Flower. 

In  this   little   volume    are    collected    three    of    Mrs. 
E wing's  best  short  stories  for  the  young  people. 

Madam  Liberality. 

From   her   cradle    up    Madam    Liberality   found   her 
chief  delight  in  giving. 

By  FRANCES  MARGARET  FOX 

The  Little  Giant's  Neighbours. 

A  charming  nature  story  of  a   "little  giant"  whose 
neighbours  were  the  creatures  of  the  field  and  garden. 

Farmer  Brown  and  the  Birds. 

A  little  story  which  teaches  children  that  the  birds 
are  man's  best  friends. 

Betty  of  Old  Mackinaw. 

A  charming  story  of  child-life,  appealing  especially  to 
the  little  readers  who  like  stories  of  "  real  people." 

flother  Nature's  Little  Ones. 

Curious  little  sketches  describing  the  early  lifetime,  o» 
"childhood,"  of  the  little  creatures  out-of-doors. 


6  L.   C.  PAGE   AND    COMPANY'S 

By    WILL  ALLEN  DROMGOOLE 

The  Farrier's  Dog  and  His  Fellow. 

This  story,  written  by  the  gifted  young  Southern 
woman,  will  appeal  to  all  that  is  best  in  the  natures  of 
the  many  admirers  of  her  graceful  and  piquant  style. 

The  Fortunes  of  the  Fellow. 

Those  who  read  and  enjoyed  the  pathos  and  charm 
of  "  The  Farrier's  Dog  and  His  Fellow  "  will  welcome 
the  further  account  of  the  "  Adventures  of  Baydaw  and 
the  Fellow  "  at  the  home  of  the  kindly  smith  among  the 
Green  Hills  of  Tennessee. 

By  FRANCES  HODGES    WHITE 

Helena's  Wonderworld. 

A  delightful  tale  of  the  adventures  f  a  little  girl  in 
the  mysterious  regions  beneath  the  sea. 

Aunt  Nabby's  Children. 

This  pretty  little  story,  touched  with  the  simple  humo/ 
of  country  life,  tells  of  two  children,  who,  adopted  by 
Aunt  Nabby,  have  also  won  their  way  into  the  affections 
of  the  village  squire, 

By   CHARLES  LEE   SLEIGHT 

The  Prince  of  the  Pin  Elves. 

A  fascinating  story  of  the  underground  adventures  of 
a  sturdy,  reliant  American  boy  among  the  elves  and 
gnomes. 

The  Water  People. 

A  companion  volume  and  in  a  way  a  sequel  to  "  The 
Prince  of  the  Pin  Elves,"  relating  the  adventures  of 
"  Harry"  among  the  "  water  people."  While  it  has  the 
same  characters  as  the  previous  book,  the  story  is  com- 
plete in  itself. 


COSY  CO  RATER  SERIES 


By    OTHER   AUTHORS 

The  Flight  of   Rosy   Dawn.     By  PAU- 
LINE BRADFORD  MACKIE. 
The  Christmas  of  little  Wong  Jan,  or  "  Rosy  Dawn," 

a  young  Celestial  of  San  Francisco,  is  the  theme  of  this 

pleasant  little  story. 

Slisaiine.      By  FRANCES  J.  DELANO. 

This  little  story  will  recall  in  sweetness  and  appealing 
charm  the  work  of  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin  and  Laura  E. 
Richards. 

flillicent  in  Dreamland.     By  EDNA  s. 

BRAINERD. 

The  quaintness  and  fantastic  character  of  Millicent's 
adventures  in  Dreamland  have  much  of  the  fascination 
of  "  Alice  in  Wonderland,"  and  all  small  readers  of 
"Alice"  will  enjoy  making  Millicent's  acquaintance. 

Jerry's    Reward.  By   EVELYN   SNEAD 

BARNETT. 

This  is  an  interesting  and  wholesome  little  story  of 
the  change  that  came  over  the  thoughtless  imps  on  Jef- 
ferson Square  when  they  learned  to  know  the  stout- 
hearted Jerry  and  his  faithful  Peggy. 

A    Bad    Penny.      By  JOHN  T.  WHEELWRIGHT. 

No  boy  should  omit  reading  this  vivid  story  of  the 
New  England  of  1812. 

Qatty  and    I.      By  FRANCES  E.  CROMPTON. 

The  small  hero  and  heroine  of  this  little  story  are 
twins,  "strictly  brought  up."  It  is  a  sweet  and  whole- 
some little  story. 


8  L.    C.   PAGE   AND   COMPANY'S 

Prince  YellowtOp.   By  KATE  WHITING  PATCH. 
A  pretty  little  fairy  tale. 

The  Little  Christmas  Shoe.    By  JANE  p. 

SCOTT-WOODRUFF. 

A  touching  story  of  Yule-tide. 

The   Little   Professor.     By  IDA  HORTON 

CASH. 

A  quaint  tale  of  a  quaint  little  girl. 

The  Seventh  Daughter,  By  GRACE  WICK 

HAM  CURRAN. 

One  of  the  best  stories  for  little  girls  that  has  been 
published  for  a  long  time. 

The  Making  of  Zimri  Bunker :  A  TALE 

OF  NANTUCKET.     By  W.  J.  LONG,  Ph.  D. 

This  is  a  charming  story  of  Nantucket  folk  by  a 
young  clergyman  who  is  already  well  known  through 
his  contributions  to  the  Youths  Companion,  St.  Nicho- 
las, and  other  well-known  magazines.  The  story  deals 
with  a  sturdy  American  fisher  lad,  during  the  war  of 
1812. 

The  King  of  the  Golden   River:   A 

LEGEND  OF  STIRIA.     By  JOHN  RUSKIN. 

Written  fifty  years  or  more  ago,  and  not  originally 
intended  for  publication,  this  little  fairy  tale  soon 
became  known  and  made  a  place  for  itself. 

Little  Peterkin  Vandike.    By  CHARLES 

STUART  PRATT. 

The  author's  dedication  furnishes  a  key  to  this  charm- 
ing story  : 

"  I  dedicate  this  book,  made  for  the  amusement  (and 
perchance  instruction)  of  the  boys  who  may  read  it,  to 
the  memory  of  one  boy,  who  would  have  enjoyed  as 
much  as  Peterkin  the  plays  of  the  Poetry  Party,  but 
who  has  now  marched  out  of  the  ranks  of  boyhood." 


COSY  CORNER   SERIES 


Rab    and    His    Friends.     By  Dr.  JOHN 

BROWN. 

Doctor  Brown's  little  masterpiece  is  too  well  known 
to  need  description.  The  dog  Rab  is  loved  by  all. 

The    Adventures    of    Beatrice    and 

Jessie.      By  RICHARD  MANSFIELD. 
The  story  of  two  little  girls  who  were  suddenly  trans- 
planted into  the  "  realms  of  unreality,"  where  they  met 
with  many  curious  and  amusing  adventures. 

A  Child's  Garden  of  Verses.     By  R. 

L.  STEVENSON. 

Mr.  Stevenson's  little  volume  is  too  well  known  to 
need  description.  It  will  be  heartily  welcomed  in  this 
new  and  attractive  edition. 

Little   King   Davie.      By  NELLIE  HELLIS. 

The  story  of  a  little  crossing-sweeper,  that  will  make 
many  boys  thankful  they  are  not  in  the  same  position. 
Davie's  accident,  hospital  experiences,  conversion,  and 
subsequent  life,  are  of  thrilling  interest. 

The  Sleeping   Beauty.      A  MODERN  VER- 
SION.    By  MARTHA  B.  DUNN. 

This  charming  story  of  a  little  fishermaid  of  Maine, 
intellectually  "  asleep "  until  she  rneets  the  "  Fairy 
Prince,"  reminds  us  of  "  Ouida  "  at  her  best. 

The   Young  Archer.     By  CHARLES  E.  BRIM- 

BLECOM. 

A  strong  and  wholesome  story  of  a  boy  who  accom- 
panied Columbus  on  his  voyage  to  the  New  World. 
His  loyalty  and  services  through  vicissitudes  and  dan- 
gers endeared  him  to  the  great  discoverer,  and  the 
account  of  his  exploits  will  be  interesting  to  all  boys. 


IO  Z.    C.  PAGE  AND   COMPANY'S 

The  Fairy  of  the  Rhone.   By  A.  COMYNS 

CARR. 

Here  is  a  fairy  story  indeed,  one  of  old-fashioned  pure 
delight.  It  is  most  gracefully  told,  and  accompanied  by 
charming  illustrations. 

A  Small  Small  Child.    By  E.  LIVINGSTON 

PRESCOTT. 

"  A  Small  Small  Child "  is  a  moving  little  tale  of 
sweet  influence,  more  powerful  than  threats  or  punish- 
ments, upon  a  rowdy  of  the  barracks. 

Peggy's  Trial.      By  MARY  KNIGHT  POTTER. 

Peggy  is  an  impulsive  little  woman  of  ten,  whose 
rebellion  from  a  mistaken  notion  of  loyalty,  and  her  sub- 
sequent reconciliation  to  the  dreaded  "  new  mother,"  are 
most  interestingly  told. 

For  His  Country.    By  MARSHALL  SAUNDERS, 

author  of  "  Beautiful  Joe,"  etc. 

A  sweet  and  graceful  story  of  a  little  boy  who  loved 
his  country;  written  with  that  charm  which  has  endeared 
Miss  Saunders  to  hosts  of  readers. 

La  Belle  Nivernaise.    THE  STORY  OF  AN 

OLD    BOAT    AND     HER     CREW.       By    ALPHONSE 

DAUDET. 

All  who  have  read  it  will  be  glad  to  welcome  an  old 
favorite,  and  new  readers  will  be  happy  to  have  it 
brought  to  their  friendly  attention. 

\Vee    Dorothy.      By  LAURA  UPDEGRAFF. 

A  story  of  two  orphan  children,  the  tender  devotion 
of  the  eldest,  a  boy,  for  his  sister  being  its  theme  and 
setting.  With  a  bit  of  sadness  at  the  beginning,  the 
story  is  otherwise  bright  and  sunny,  and  altogether 
wholesome  in  every  way. 


BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE 
The  Little  Colonel  Stories.    By  ANNIE 

FELLOWS  JOHNSTON. 

Being  three  "  Little  Colonel"  stories  in  the  Cosy 
Corner  Series,  "  The  Little  Colonel,"  "  Two  Little 
Knights  of  Kentucky,"  and  "  The  Giant  Scissors,"  put 
into  a  single  volume,  owing  to  the  popular  demand  for  a 
uniform  series  of  the  stories  dealing  with  one  of  the 
most  popular  of  juvenile  heroines. 

i  vol.,  large  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  fully  illus- 
trated .....  .  $1-50 

The   Little   Colonel's   House  Party. 

By    ANNIE    FELLOWS    JOHNSTON.       Illustrated    by 

Louis  Meynell. 

One  vol.,  library  I2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    $1.50 

The   Little   Colonel's  Holidays.      By 

ANNIE  FELLOWS   JOHNSTON.     Illustrated  by   L.   J. 

Bridgman. 

One  vol.,  large  i2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  .     $1.50 

The  Little  Colonel's  Hero.     By  ANNIE 

FELLOWS  JOHNSTON.     Illustrated  by  E.  B.  Barry. 
One  vol.,  large  i2mo,  cloth   decorative, 

$1.20  net  (postage  extra) 

The    Little    Colonel    at    Boarding 

School.      By  ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON.    Illus- 
trated by  E.  B.  Barry. 

I  vol.,  large  I2mo,  cloth  .  $1.20  net  (postage  extra) 
Since  the  time  of  "  Little  Women,"  no  juvenile  heroine 
has  been  better  beloved  of  her  child  readers  than  Mrs. 
Johnston's  "  Little  Colonel."  Each  succeeding  book  has 
been  more  popular  than  its  predecessor,  and  now  thou- 
sands of  little  readers  wait  patiently  each  year  for  the 
appearance  of  "  the  new  Little  Colonel  Book." 


THE  LITTLE  COUSIN  SERIES 

The  most  delightful  and  interesting  accounts  possible 
of  child-life  in  other  lands,  filled  with  quaint  sayings 
doings,  and  adventures. 

Each  i  vol.,  I2mo,  decorative  cover,  cloth,  with  six 
full-page  illustrations  in  color  by  L.  J.  Bridgman. 

Price  per  volume       .         .     $0.50  net,  postpaid  $0.56 

"  Juveniles  will  get  a  whole  world  of  pleasure  and  instruc- 
tion out  of  Mary  Hazelton  Wade's  Little  Cousin  Series.  .  .  . 
Pleasing  narratives  give  pictures  of  the  little  folk  in  the  far- 
away lands  in  their  duties  and  pleasures,  showing  their  odd 
ways  of  playing,  studying,  their  queer  homes,  clothes,  and 
playthings.  .  .  .  The  style  of  the  stories  is  all  that  can  be 
desired  for  entertainment,  the  author  describing  things  in  a 
very  real  and  delightful  fashion."  —  Detroit  News-  Tribune. 

By  MARY  HAZELTON  WADE 

Our  Little  Swiss  Cousin. 
Our  Little  Norwegian  Cousin. 
Our  Little  Italian  Cousin. 
Our  Little  Siamese  Cousin. 
Our  Little  Cuban  Cousin. 
Our  Little  Hawaiian  Cousin 
Our  Little  Eskimo  Cousin. 
Our  Little  Philippine  Cousin. 
Our  Little  Porto  Rican  Cousin. 
Ou-  Little  African  Cousin. 
Our  Little  Japanese  Cousin. 
Our  Little  Brown  Cousin. 
Our  Little  Indian  Cousin. 
Our  Little  Russian  Cousin. 

By  ISAAC  HEADLAND   TAYLOR 
Qw  Little  Chinese  Cousin. 


A    000  111  108    7 


